


Watershed

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: AU, Friendship/Love, M/M, teen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera





	1. Chapter 1

It is funny the way life works out. The way the stupidest things set you off on a completely unchartered course and change your life for ever. In my particular case, it was a surly, two line ad on the Shared Accommodation section of the local rag:

_Looking for a cheap room? Can you keep out of the way and mind_ _your own business? £20pw + uts. Ref: H34C7_

It caught my eye as I was looking for digs, and it piqued my curiosity, so I called the paper, they gave me a number, and a short phone call later with a suitably surly bloke, I had arranged an interview for the same afternoon.

When I arrived at the address in question, I nearly chickened out; it was a third floor walkup—an attic, by the looks of it—in a terrace house on an alleyway off the top of Fore Street, its front dingy and scarred. But I had spent the money on the bus fare, and the next bus home wouldn't leave for another hour, so I decided I might as well give it a go.

A bit winded by the steep, creaky stairs, I knocked on the bright red door. Nothing. After a few seconds, I knocked again, this time getting a response, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, I'm coming."

The door finally opened wide and I was faced by this pale, skinny, ferrety-looking little git with a shock of electric-blue hair, looking like a scarecrow in baggy black thrift shop togs. Before I could open my mouth, he looked me up and down with the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen, and his scowl melted away as he grabbed his middle and broke out into this weird braying laugh, bending almost double with hilarity and holding onto the door handle to stop toppling over.

Ok, not the best start ever. I stared at him open-mouthed, wondering whether he was all there and planning a discreet yet speedy exit. Before I managed to slip away, though, he seemed to get hold of himself and, eyes still crinkling with suppressed mirth, he extended his hand and introduced himself, apologising for his outburst. I responded in kind, surprised by the strength in his slender, spidery hand as it shook mine.

Formalities out of the way, he turned on his heel with a cryptic, "This is going to be good." motioning for me to follow him in. The moment I walked inside I understood the joke. The place was, indeed, an attic that seemed to span the whole building. The door led straight into a large, bright, open, surprisingly tidy living area, the ceiling sloping away sharply towards a row of floor to (very low) ceiling windows letting in the afternoon sun.

Yeah, ok, I got it. Hilarious. I'd be stooping to get anywhere past the middle of the room. I briefly considered leaving, but there was something really appealing about the room, with its mismatched furniture, the sagging couches piled with brightly coloured cushions, the worn but obviously good oriental rugs, the multitude of plants that stood on every available surface, turning it into an indoor garden.

I turned my head to find him leaning against the wall, watching me silently, all blue hair and sharp features and sharp eyes and that sharp beak of a nose, looking as haughty and beautiful and dangerous as a peregrine falcon. When my eyes met his, his lips quirked ironically, gesturing around the room, "Well?" I blinked, "It's nice. I like it. Can I see the rest?" His eyes widened in surprise, "Really? You do realise..." he mimed height issues, hands fluttering above his head, his expression endearingly dorky.

I nodded, rubbing the top of my head, "I may live to regret it, but yeah, it has a nice vibe." With a shrug, he pushed off the wall, walking past me towards the two doors on the right, "Ok, then..." As I moved to follow, he turned his head to smile a wonky-toothed smile at me, eyes sparkling with mischief, "On your head be it." I bit my lip trying not to laugh at the little wit's cheek, but it was a lost cause, a giggle bursting out through my defences, causing a grin to bloom on his face at his success.

"Anyway...." he deadpanned, opening the red door on the left, "my room." Another brightly lit room, facing the front of the building, with the same floor to ceiling windows as the living area and a matching theme of colourful soft furnishings and plants everywhere. Pointing at a small black body curled up on top of the duvet, he went on, "That is Socks, by the way, I hope you're not allergic to cats." I looked at the cat with a widening smile, "No, I love cats." I looked back at him, "May I?"

He nodded his permission with a matching smile, so I walked into the room to kneel by the bed, extending my hand to scratch behind the cat's ears. She opened one shiny green eye to look at me and, purring, uncoiled into one of those contented feline full body stretches, revealing white-tipped paws and nose. "Ooooh, aren't you beautiful?" I gushed at her, stroking her sleek fur in delight while he sat on the edge of the bed and beamed down at me approvingly, "That she is. She is my baby, I adopted her when I moved in a year ago, she was a stray. She is really good company."

I looked up at him, surprised. This was the longest sentence I'd had from him yet. I took it as a good sign, so I decided to try my luck, "So you've been living here by yourself all this time? What made you decide to take on a flat mate?" His face closed in, and I mentally smacked myself as he answered in a dead voice, "I lived with my boyfriend. We broke up. I can't afford the rent by myself."

Oh. Before I could apologise for being a nosy moron, he was out of the door saying, "I'll show you yours, now." With a last stroke to the cat, I got up and followed him out, closing the red door behind me. He opened the twin door that stood not two feet from his, this one painted a muted yellow, "This is you." Being at the back, the room's ceiling was mercifully not too low and, despite its lack of windows, it had plenty of light coming through two large-ish skylights.

Not much in the way of furniture, a bed, nightstands, wardrobe and dresser. Compared to the rest of the flat, it looked empty and stark, but that meant I could decorate it to my own taste. I nodded, "Yep, this will do me." He gave me an odd look, but he nodded too, "Ok, let me show you the rest."

'The rest' consisted of kitchen and bathroom, located at the other end of the living area. The kitchen was at the font, surprisingly large, taking up most of the space on that side of the flat, decorated on the same theme as the rest, warm, colourful, with a ceiling rack hung with all sorts of pots and pans and bunches of dried herbs, and the base of the windows lined with window boxes, lush with what I could only surmise were herbs.

The hob, sink, bench and cabinets took the end of the room across from the windows. There was a small dining table and two chairs against the far wall, covered in a cheerful red and white checkered tablecloth, two battered but comfortable-looking armchairs with a small occasional table between them facing the windows, and a small stereo on top of the sideboard against the wall opposite the table.

It was obviously not just a utilitarian room reserved for preparing meals, it was a cosy, alive, living space. I could picture myself sitting in one of the armchairs with a mug of tea, the rich scents of freshly cooked food surrounding me, looking out over the rooftops at the Cathedral's lights while listening to some mellow jazz.

"You cook?" I asked, awed by the professional-looking knife block and kitchen aids lined up on the benchtop. He shrugged diffidently, "Yeah, it's a hobby. It relaxes me. If you put in for the groceries and clean up after, I don't mind cooking for your too." I shook my head in wonder, "Wow! Sounds good, man. I'm in."

"Ok." he said, turning towards the bench, "I'll put the kettle on and make us a cuppa. Bathroom is next door, if you want to take a look." I looked at him for a moment, trying to work him out, then nodded, assuming the offer of tea and permission to roam by myself meant I was in.

The bathroom was as clean and tidy as the rest of the house, and contained the inevitable two or three pots of leafy plants. It was smallish but serviceable, and it had a bathtub with a decent shower extension, so it covered all my requirements. There were toiletries on one side of the vanity, and, curious, I opened the door of the mirrored cabinet hanging above it, to find that, again, only one half of it was filled with more toiletries and a couple of bottles of over the counter meds. Recent break-up, then.

I closed the door and frowned at my own reflection. "None of your business, man. Stop snooping." With a deep breath, I went back to the kitchen, to find him sitting in one of the chairs, staring vacantly out of the window, two steaming mugs of tea and a small plate of what looked like home-cooked biscuits on the table. He looked up as I stepped closer, "I didn't know how you take it, made it white, no sugar. Is that ok?"

Sitting down next to him, I nodded my thanks, taking a cautious first sip, "It's perfect, cheers." We sat in silence for a while, sipping at our tea and watching the clouds gathering on the horizon. "So, you'll take the room?" he asked suddenly, "When can you move in?" Instead of saying 'yes' and 'immediately', I couldn't resist the urge to bait him gently, "What makes you think I can keep out of the way and mind my own business?"

His eyes widened and he looked at me sideways, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling, "Well... You're quiet-like, and you haven't pestered me with stupid questions, and you didn't pry when I told you I'd broken up with my boyfriend, so I guess you'll do. Oh, and Socks likes you. She normally doesn't like anyone, other than me."

I smiled at him like an idiot, proud as Punch that his cat liked me, "Ok, then. I can move in tomorrow, if that's ok with you. And if I can get my mum to drive me. I can't get all my shit here on the bus." He looked at me pensively for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind about something, "I have a panel van, I can come pick you up if you spring for the fuel, save your mum the trip."

"Yeah?" I grinned at him. "Yeah." he grinned back. "Awesome!" I exclaimed happily, offering him my hand across the table. He took it and shook it, sealing the deal. That handshake acted as a watershed, and I often think of my life as 'before the handshake' and 'after the handshake'. It seemed to break down his shields, too, and we spent the rest of the afternoon sipping tea and chatting, laughing and occasionally arguing, getting to know one another.

I found out that he was six months older than me, a third year journalism student at the university on a decent, but not overly generous, scholarship; that he was passionate about politics and social justice; that he was clever, and funny, and warm, and more than a little bit nerdy and dorky under all that surly front; that he shared my passion for SciFi and music, although our tastes in the latter only intersected narrowly; that he believed himself to be awkward, ugly and ungainly; that his delicate hands waved about madly and his words tumbled out almost unintelligibly when he was excited about something; that his eyes clouded with pain every time the conversation even skirted close to the issue of relationships; that he'd inherited his eye for interior design from his gran; that his specialty in the kitchen was cooking pasta and baking...

I told him about my dreams of becoming a graphic artist after finishing my tech course, and about my brand new job as a junior designer at a local greeting card publishing house; about life in the boring little seaside town I grew up in, and my driving need to get away as soon as I possibly could; about my love for the sea and my passion for sports; about books and films I loved and hated, which drew us into a lengthy argument on the virtues of French arthouse films; about silly little things like my ability to draw a perfect pint courtesy of having worked behind the bar at my mum's pub since I'd turned 18...

Despite the rocky start, by the time we realised it was already dark we'd established the foundations of a firm friendship. I left reluctantly, my scribbled address and phone number carefully tucked in his back pocket, and had to run to catch the last bus home. The bus was almost empty, so I was able to sit at the front on the top deck, daydreaming about my new life, my new job, and my weird and fascinating new flatmate and friend.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't remember much about that day, so long ago, when I crawled out of the pit of pain, misery and self-loathing that had gripped me for the previous two weeks and decided I was going to live after all. And that to continue to do so with a roof over my head I was going to need a flatmate. But I have only the vaguest of memories of calling the paper to place the ad that was going to change my life.

The next day, still barely able to function, I made it out of the flat for the first time since the man I loved, the man with whom I had hoped to share my life, had coldly and cruelly broken me. I pretended to be alive, going through the motions of living, buying much needed groceries and household items, and picking up a copy of the paper.

By the time I got back to the flat—calling it home would have been a lie, it felt cold and empty without him—I was exhausted, but I made myself clean the mess that had accumulated during the last two weeks, and cook myself a proper meal, and then sat at the table picking miserably at my food, reading the paper to distract myself from my thoughts.

Out of curiosity, I pulled the reference number that I'd scribbled down out of my pocket to look for the ad I had placed the previous day. When I finally found it, I headplanted the table with a groan. Brilliant, what a waste of ten quid. What kind of lunatic would even consider responding to that????

_Looking for a cheap room? Can you keep out of the way and  
mind your own business? £20pw + uts. Ref: H34C7_

In one of those twists of fate that sometimes make me question my lack of belief in a higher power, the phone rang—some lunatic had, indeed, responded, and would, in fact, be there that very afternoon for an interview.

I went into full panic mode. I didn't do well with people at the best of times; the very idea of having some stranger living under the same roof terrified me. But it was inevitable, so I did what I always do when I need to relax: I baked up a storm. By the time I was done, I had a month's supply of biscuits and tea cakes cooling on the bench, and I was almost calm. Almost.

A knock on the door startled me while I was putting the last container in the pantry, the box of biscuits hitting the tiles and splitting open, scattering its contents through the kitchen. With a muted curse, I hurriedly swept the whole mess up into the bin, shouting exasperatedly, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, I'm coming." at the second, impatient knock, and rushing to open the door.

I couldn't help it, I cracked up. He was so ridiculously tall. Ok, let me explain. I lived in an attic with steeply sloping ceilings that made it hazardous to anyone of even remotely normal height—yeah, alright, you got me, I'm ridiculously short, ok?—so picturing him living there had me doubled over in stitches.

By the time I managed to sober up, I was surprised to find he was still there, so I apologised profusely and introduced myself. He had a nice, strong handshake without feeling the need to crush my fingers with it, so I kind of liked him straight away.

I watched him while he looked around, trying not to burst into giggles as he took in the lack of headroom. Young, tall, curly longish hair, bright hazel eyes, beautiful sunny smile, drop dead gorgeous. He gave the overall impression of a cute labradoodle pup, all big paws and soft, eager wholesomeness.

To my surprise, he was interested in the flat despite the very clear and present danger it presented to his health and wellbeing, the chances of him ending up with a concussion within the week fair to middling. So I showed him around. 

Two things sealed the deal for me. The fact that Socks, my cat, allowed herself to be petted by him—almost unheard of, she was even more wary of strangers than I am. And the fact that he didn't comment or ask stupid questions when I told him I'd broken up with my boyfriend. He just looked at me with those soft eyes of his, recognised the red light, and shut up.

Actually, three. The third was that there was this soothing quality to him, that I didn't feel quite as hollow around him. I was surprised by the fact that I was hoping he'd want to take the room, so I surprised myself by being sociable and offering him tea and biscuits, offering to cook for him, offering to pick him up the next day in my van so he could bring all his stuff and move in.

We sealed the deal, and I found myself telling him about me, and listening with growing interest to what he had to say about himself. We talked for hours, over countless mugs of tea and making inroads into my fresh supply of biscuits, and I found myself smiling almost continuously, and laughing often. It was as though he'd flicked a switch inside me and I'd suddenly come alive again.

By the time he left it was dark outside, and he was rushing to catch the last bus home. Closing the door, I leant my back against it and slid down to sit on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and smiling like an idiot at life's irony. The dreaded ordeal of letting a stranger live in my space had presented me with a new friend, and made the empty flat feel like a home again.

I went to bed early, too tired to hang around, setting the alarm for the first time in two weeks so I would be up and ready to drive the fifteen miles to his place on time. Curling up in bed with Socks a tight ball against my chest, I fell into a deep untroubled sleep the moment my heat hit the pillow.

The sound of the alarm startled me bolt upright, and I sat there with my hand clutching my chest for a few moments, until my heartbeat slowed a bit and I managed to get my brain to work. Looking around, I saw the bit of note paper propped against the alarm clock with his address on it, and suddenly my heart was racing again with anticipation.

I rushed through my morning routine, and decided to treat myself to breakfast before setting off, so I picked up my book, wallet and keys, walked up the block to the high street, and plonked myself at my favourite cafe, all mismatched armchairs and full of student types, ordering a double espresso and one of their scrumptious pastries.

All my nutritional needs filled by caffeine, butter and sugar, I set off on my little adventure, pointing the car towards the coast after consulting my trusty Michelin Guide for directions. By the time I nosed the car into a parking bay at the back of the pub, he was already pacing up and down, a surprisingly small pile of his belongings stacked neatly by the back door.

Before I had managed to untangle myself from the seatbelt, he was already opening my door, "Cool, you're here, come inside, you have to meet my mum." and I was being towed all the way into the pub's back room—which I assumed was the family's private living area by the way it was set up. His mum got up to greet me, and I could tell where he got his warmth and looks from. She was gorgeous. Where he was a labradoodle pup, his mum had the grace and elegance of a silver afghan hound. Tall, eyes hovering between green and grey, shoulder-length blonde hair starting to grey a little, she had the warmest smile I'd ever seen, making me feel instantly at home. 

"So, you are the famous flatmate!" she said after the introductions were out of the way, "This excitable puppy I have for a son hasn't stopped talking about you since he got home last night." With a groaned "Muuuuuum!" he buried his face in his big hands, every bit of skin showing between his fingers going a deep beet colour. "Oh, shush, you," she went on unperturbed, rolling her eyes at him, "you know perfectly well it's true." I arched my eyebrows at the exchange, biting my lip to stop myself from giggling.

With a pained look at my face, he scrambled up and made a beeline for the door as fast as he could move, saying over his shoulder, "Yeah, well, I'll start loading the van, yeah? We don't want to keep you here all day, do we? You come out when you're ready." He was out the door like his pants were on fire, and his mum and I looked at one another for a moment and burst into peals of laughter.

"It was good of you to offer to pick him up, I could have driven him, but it would have meant delaying opening the pub for lunch." I smiled at her, "It was no problem, I had nothing to do all day, and he's paying for the fuel, so we are all good." To this day, I still don't know the compulsion that made me go on to say, "I haven't left the flat for two weeks, so this trip will probably do me good."

Her warm eyes sharpened at my words, mum mode fully engaged, "What happened to you, love?" I shook my head, eyes down on my untouched tea mug, my hand nervously twirling the teaspoon, but looked up in surprise when her hand covered mine, stilling it, her voice soft and full of concern, "And don't tell me nothing, you look like a battered puppy right now."

Two weeks. To weeks of holding the tears in. Unable to cry, unable to let go. And all it took was this beautiful, kind woman's soft words to break the dam. They rolled unchallenged down my cheeks. No sobbing, no wrenching cries, just a silent, unstoppable flood. Before I knew what was happening, she was holding me, stroking my hair and rubbing my back, the lovely clean lily of the valley scent of Diorissimo surrounding me like a cloud. 

After a few moments she loosened her hold on me, pulling back a little, "You don't have to tell me what's wrong, love, you don't know me from a bar of soap," she smiled her beautiful smile, self-deprecatingly, "but it is obvious to anyone who has eyes that you are in pain. If you ever need to talk, you know where I am." Sitting up briskly, she stroked my wet cheek with her knuckles, "Now, you'd better go splash some water on your face, I can't let you go anywhere looking like that, now, can I?"

With a mumbled but heartfelt 'thank you' I walked down the hallway to the loo, feeling as if I'd been run over by a lorry. Splashing water on my face seemed like a brilliant idea, and I spent a fair amount of time doing just that, the coolness of the water soothing against my fevered skin, and finally blotted my splotchy face on one of the lily of the valley scented towels. Sitting heavily on the toilet's lid, I rubbed my face violently with both hands, trying to make some sense of what had just happened.

I felt lighter, as if the tears had been made of lead, rather than electrolyte-laden water. Yes, the pain was still there, under my skin, but I felt free, as if I had rid myself of him with my tears, and I decided it was a good feeling. I shook my head with a wry smile, wondering at the cosmic confluence that had led me to this point, sitting in a virtual stranger's toilet feeling free to take up my life again thanks to her kindness.

By the time I made back to the living room, I was feeling almost myself again. She looked up from her book, her eyes concerned under her smile, and I smiled back and went to sit next to her. "Thank you." I said, quietly, "I think I really needed that." Her smile widened and, putting her hand on my shoulder, she said, "You look miles better." With a little squeeze, she let go and got up, "I meant what I said, love. Any time you need to talk, I'm here." With that, she walked up to the window, "Ah, it looks like the van is loaded. You boys'd better be off on your way."

She hadn't quite finished speaking when the back door opened and he came in, his smiling face preceded by his eager voice, "Done loading, we can go whenever you want!" I watched with veiled envy as he engulfed his mum in a bear hug, "Bye mum, were all set. I'll call you tonight, yeah?" She hugged him back just as tight, "Have lots of fun, and be safe, you hear?" 

With a laughing, "Yes, mum." he let go and turned to me, "Alright?" I nodded, getting up and walking towards the door, "Alright." I was stopped in my tracks when she put her arms around me for an equally tight hug, "Bye, love, it was nice to meet you. Look after one another." With a smile and a wink, she let go of me, and pushed us both out the door, "Go on, on your way, go live your lives."

She stood at the door watching us go, and we waved and smiled until we turned the corner. "Your mum is fantastic." I said with a sigh, settling into driving mode. "Yeah, she is," he grinned, "but she loves teasing me." I chuckled, "Yeah, I noticed." I paused for effect, "Sooooo, you kept talking about your new flat mate, did you?" 

He giggled in embarrassment, smacking my arm, "Shut the fuck up, you wanker! I was excited about moving out, ok?" I looked sideways at him with a smirk, "If you say so." He fiddled with the toggles of his duffle coat for a while before speaking again, "Actually, I really enjoyed talking to you yesterday. I really like you, man. And I don't usually get on with strangers." 

I couldn't help the smile lighting up my face, "Me too. I like you, I mean. And I was dreading this flat mate thing, but it turns out it might be the best thing that happened to me." He grunted contentedly in agreement, and we both settled in for the short drive, talking about nothing much for the rest of the trip.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd never been so excited in my whole life, talking mum's head off over dinner about my fascinating flatmate and my gorgeous new flat. The moment the dinner dishes were drying on the rack, I was off to my room in a frenzy of packing. When I was done, I sat cross-legged on my bed, looking around my now bare-looking room, too wound up for sleep.

With a light knock on the open door, mum came in with a mug in her hand, and I could smell cocoa from where I was sitting, "I thought you might need this. You looked far too keyed up for sleep." I groaned, leaning back on the headboard, "Mum, what am I, five?" She smiled at me, coming to sit on the bed next to me and placing the mug on the bedside table, her hand cradling my face, "To me you will always be five, love."

I grinned at her, and sat up closer to hug her, kissing her cheek, "Awwww, mum!" Picking up the mug, I had a sip, "Thank you." Getting up, she leant over to kiss my forehead, saying, "Night, love. Now go to sleep so you're ready for your big adventure in the morning."

Once mum left, I changed into sleeping togs and did a bathroom run, and then lay happily tucked up in bed, propped up on my pillows while I contentedly sipped my cocoa, feeling the soothing effects of the familiar warm milky sweetness working through me, my eyelids getting heavier with every sip.

I woke up the next morning with a start, so worried I'd oversleep that I'd beaten the alarm clock by a good fifteen minutes. Jumping out of bed, I rushed through my morning routine and dressed hurriedly. By the time mum was up, I'd already piled all my stuff by the back door ready to go, and was half-way through cooking breakfast.

Having wolfed down breakfast, I was pacing outside impatiently when a van pulled into the car park. The poor guy had hardly had time to turn the engine off before I'd virtually pulled him out of the van and towed him inside to meet mum. Only to excuse myself with the pretext of loading the van and rush back out again in an agony of embarrassment as mum took an immediate shine to him and proceeded to tell him about the previous night's gushfest.

Having worked out my embarrassment by lugging my stuff into the back of the van, I went back inside, eager to get going. I hugged mum goodbye and was surprised when she hugged him too. Yup. She'd definitively taken a shine to him. Goodbyes out of the way, we piled into the van and drove away, waving at mum until we couldn't see her anymore.

Once we were on our way, I braced myself for the teasing I knew was coming, and it did not take long. It was gentle and good natured, though, with no malice to it, and when it was over we chatted companionably all the way home. We stopped at the local Tesco on the way, picking up groceries and stuff to see us through the week, and I insisted on paying for some grog to celebrate the move.

By the time the van turned into the alleyway, I was wriggling in my seat with excitement, much to his amusement. "I'm kind of expecting you to wag your tail any moment now." He quipped with a quirked eyebrow and a sideways look as he parked a couple of car spaces away from our building. "Piss off. I'm excited, ok? It's my first time living away from home." I answered haughtily, spoiling the effect by grinning like loon and rushing to get out before the van had quite stopped.

"Slow down, man," he said, making a more dignified exit, "we need to cart this shit up three floors, you'll bust a gut before we're done if you try to rush it." I rolled my eyes at him, but I could see his point, so I tried to rein in my excitement while I got hold of my big suitcase from the back of the van. 

Taking two smaller bags, he followed me up the stairs, muttering about over eager puppies and fucking steep stairs all the way to the door. It took us four trips up the fucking steep stairs to get all my stuff plus what seemed like a million Tesco bags up, by which time we were pretty much fucked, and collapsed on one of the sofas, feet up on the coffee table, trying to catch our breath.

"Fuck me, that was fun." he gasped, listing sideways until he was lying on the cushions, ending up bent at an uncomfortably-looking right angle, his feet still up on the coffee table. "Yeah, not." I gasped back, groaning at the burn in my thighs from those thrice damned steps. 

"Doesn't that hurt?" I asked after a moment. "Doesn't what hurt?" he answered weakly, half opening an eye to look at me, "You're going to have to be a bit more specific, mate, everything hurts at the moment." Laughing, I nudged him with my socked foot, "Lying twisted into an L like that." He batted at my foot with his hand, "OW! Don't!" answering my question when I let off, "Yeah, but I don't have the energy to move. Just leave me here to die quietly." 

Muttering, "Drama queen." I leant over with a muted groan to pull his feet off the table, swivelling his legs to place them on the cushions, his toes barely grazing my leg, so he could lie straight. "Thanks." he laughed, stretching like a cat until his back popped, toes curling against my thigh, then went on with eyes closed and a blissful smile, "Oh, man, that feels so much better. You are a perfect and generous human being."

Grinning at the hyperbole, I settled back, my head resting on the back of the sofa, "I bet you say that to all the guys!" There was a long moment of silence, and I lifted my head to look at him, puzzled. He was looking back at me with an odd expression on his face, his hand combing idly through the blue strands of his hair. "No, not all the guys," he finally said, "just the special ones." 

I just stared at him, feeling a blush rush up my neck and spread like a wildfire all the way to the roots of my hair. "Pffffttt, give over," I said smacking his feet, "there's nothing special about me." He grinned at my embarrassment, "Yeah, there is. I bet if I asked nicely you'd get up and go get me a beer, even when you are feeling just as fucked as I am." I thought about that for a moment, and grinned back at him, "Yeah, ok, I would." 

I got back the smuggest smirk I'd ever seen in my life, his toes prodding at my leg, "Yeah, that's what I thought." I snorted, grabbing hold of his foot to stop the prodding, muttering, "Wanker!" and was surprised by his high pitched giggle and kicking legs, "Ah, ah, ah, noooooooo, not my foot. Ticklish man, let go!" 

I dropped his foot like it was on fire, scooting backwards to crouch at the end of the couch to avoid being kicked in the face, and watched in awe as he continued to wriggle and giggle hysterically way after I had stopped touching him. It was the most impressive case of the tickles I'd ever seen, and I filed the fact away for future reference.

"You done?" I asked with a chuckle as he finally flopped back bonelessly, still panting harshly. He nodded weakly, throwing an arm across his eyes, "Fuck, that hurt." I couldn't resist having a dig, so I deadpanned, "So, you're a bit ticklish, then?" He narrowed his eyes at me, "Har, har, my flatmate is a comedian." Kicking his legs to one side, I stretched from my cramped crouch, sighing in relief, "Don't sulk, Bubu, your secret's safe with me."

His eyebrows lifted so high that they nearly reached his hairline, "BUBU? Did you just call me Bubu?" I pouted at him, "What? You don't like it? Let me think..." I tapped my lips with my fingertips, "Pet? Hun? Snookums?" He looked at me as if I'd grown horns as I went on, giving him my best wide eyed look, "What? I thought it was customary to give flatmates a pet name."

I watched him splutter for a few seconds, and then I couldn't hold it anymore, it was too funny. Giggling like a loon, I flipped my legs off the couch and sat up, reaching over to ruffle his hair, "Dude, you're too easy!" His face was priceless, and I doubled over with laughter. After a moment or so, he joined in, saying, "Huh, this puppy bites." Pushing off the couch, I got up, "This puppy needs a beer. Want one?" 

Still laughing, he nodded, and I giggled my way to the fridge, the odd curse slipping in as my abused muscles protested at the movement. I was taking a first much needed sip off the nicely chilled bottle when his voice filtered through from the living area, "Hey, Pup! Bring a couple, save you getting up again." 

Beer went up my nose and simultaneously sprayed out of my mouth across a four foot radius, while I vilely cursed his ancestors to the fifth generation. Damn the sod! "You ok in there, Pup?" he called out, adding insult to injury, while I tried to cough out the gallon or so of beer I'd inhaled, and I could hear the soft padding of his bare feet as he made his way to the kitchen to check on me.

"Oh." he said, taking in the disaster zone, rushing over to take the bottle out of my tenuous grip and pounding on my back with the flat of his hand, saying, "Please don't die on me on your first day, your mum will skin me alive!" Coughing fit over, I slid down the counter to sit on the floor, and he sat down next to me, hugging his knees with one arm and wrapping the other around my shoulders, leaning forward to see my face, "Seriously, you ok?" 

I nodded weakly, my sinuses feeling like they had been scrubbed with acid, "I pretty much hate your guts right now." He flashed me a smile, tightening his arm, "Fair enough, I can live with that. How about you go change out of them beery clothes while I clean up in here and then I'll buy you lunch?" When I didn't answer, he headbutted me gently, "Deal?" 

I thought about giving him a hard time, but in the end his idiotic wonky toothed smile melted my mild huff, so I nodded again, "Deal. But I'm ordering the most expensive thing on the menu." Getting up like he was on springs, he held his hand out to me, "Ok. Now up you get, I have a kitchen to scrub." I took his offered hand and was surprised at the strength hidden in his slight body when he pulled me up easily.

"Go on, off you go," he said putting the beer bottle back in my hand, "have one for the road." I took the offered beer and got going, while he pulled the mop out of the cupboard and started to efficiently mop the beer spray off the floor. As I crossed into the living area, I looked back and called out, "Thanks, Bubu, I'll just be a tick." His laughter floated out of the kitchen to follow me across the flat as I walked into my room sniggering to myself.


	4. Chapter 4

He started it, I swear. Bubu. He had the audacity to call me Bubu! On his first morning at the flat! Ok, it was a well baited line, I'll give him that, and I swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. To tell you the truth, I didn't think he had it in him, with his soft eyes and eager puppy ways, so I walked right into it. Bubu. I ask you!!!

I got him back well and good, though. Pup. It was a cosmic inevitability, the name fitted him down to a T, really. Although it nearly backfired. For a moment there I was afraid he might choke on the beer he snorted when I used the name on him for the first time, and die on me before he managed a sleep in his new room. That would have gone down a treat with his mum, I'm sure, but it was all good in the end. 

Other than the mess of beer all over the kitchen. Which I cleaned up—despite the fact that he called me Bubu again while I was slaving away, mop in hand, to clear his mess. And I bought him lunch, too. See? Things have a way of settling into a pattern, and ours was set that very day he moved in. The cheeky sod!

Putting the mop away, still laughing at the kid's front, I came out to the sound of the shower running, so I went over to bang on the door, "OI! Don't use all the hot water, I want to wash the sweat off me before we go out!" I got a muted 'ok' from him, so I went off to get some clean clothes, and check on Socks, who had swiftly run under the wardrobe at the first sound of plonking luggage and muted curses earlier that morning.

She was not in her normal daytime hangout, curled up in the middle of my bed, and I couldn't find her anywhere in the bedroom or in the living area. Worried that she might have run out while we were trudging up and down the stairs, I decided to check the other bedroom, just in case. 

The door was ajar, so I poked my head in, and there she was, quite regally sat on his newly made bed as if she belonged there. "What are you doing in here, missy? Get off there this instant." With a disdainful look in her green eyes, she proceeded to curl her tail around her legs and, with a yawn and a flick of an ear, she curled up into a furry ball and went to sleep, purring like a chainsaw.

I was still standing in the doorway, wondering at the fickle nature of cats when I heard the bathroom door open. I turned my head and out he came, preceded by a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist while he dabbed at the tight curly tendrils of his hair with another. 

"What's up?" he asked when he saw me standing there, looking forlornly into his bedroom. "Oh, nothing, I think my cat just left me for you." Giving me a wtf look, he leant past me to look inside, "Oh man," he giggled when he saw the evil little furball on his bed, "Sorry, I forgot to close the door when I went to have a shower." He looked back at me and, seeing my pout, he put his arm around my shoulders, giving me his godawful goomba impression, "You want I should kick her out?"

I shrugged my shoulders despondently, "Nah, it's ok, she's getting used to you, that's a good thing, right?" He turned me to face him, placing his hands on my shoulders, his eyes searching my face, "Hey, are we still talking about the cat here?" Ok, I had to give it to him, the kid was sharp as a tack. I shook my head, biting my lip in an effort to stop the tears.

Without another word, he took my wrist and pulled me to sit on the bed, plonking himself next to me. "Are you ok?" he asked quietly, only to wave his hands in front of him in an erasing motion, "No, scratch that, stupid question, you're obviously not ok." I looked at him from under my eyelashes, and he nodded, "Yeah, you put on a good front, but you're definitely not ok."

I opened my mouth to say I was ok, really, but he put his hand up, "Sorry, I know the conditions were to stay out of the way and mind my own business, but that's not how friends behave." He paused for a moment, and then went on, putting his hand on my shoulder and shaking me gently, "And I want to be your friend, ok?" 

This time I did look at him. I didn't have much of a track record with friendships, being mostly a loner. Pretty much the only friend I'd ever had had been... No. I wasn't going there. Not again. I shut my eyes tight, and his warm hand closed on the back of my neck, whispering, "Ok, now you're officially scaring me." My eyes flew open in surprise when he pressed his forehead to mine, "What can I do?" he said, his eyes gentle and a little scared, "I want to help. Tell me what I can do."

I took a deep breath, fighting the wave of panic at the thought that I might slip back into the dark pit I had clawed myself out of only two days ago, and forced myself to speak with something that approached normalcy, "Talk to me. Yes, talk to me, distract me, don't let me think too much." I looked at him, "I've been a mess the last couple of weeks. I don't want to go back there." 

His hand tightened on my neck, and he nodded, "Ok. I can be as chatty and giddy as a high school girl, if that's what you need... Bubu." It was perfectly timed, and the giggle just burst out of me, cutting through the heavy atmosphere and lightening my heart. Still giggling, I pulled away and swatted the back of his head, "Cheeky git!" He flashed me a million watt smile in response, "Yeah, but I made you laugh, didn't I?" My heart filled with affection for the silly sod, "Yeah, you're really good at that, Pup."

"Ok, then," he said briskly, "off you go, have your shower. You're supposed to be buying me lunch, in case you've forgotten, and I'm starving after all that lugging stuff upstairs and nearly dying and shit." Shaking my head, I let him pull me up and push me out the door as he went on, "I promise I'll chat your ears off during lunch." 

Just as I was stepping out, he said, "Oh, hang on!" and run back inside. I craned my neck to look around the doorframe just in time to get a face full of cat, "here, you'd better put her on your bed, I don't want to be 'the other guy' in this love story." I took the still sleeping, purring floozie off his hands and, hugging her to my chest, I walked the two steps to my bedroom.

Before going in I turned around. He was leaning on the doorframe watching me with concern plain in his eyes. "Thank you." I said quietly. "What for?" he asked, just as quietly. "For being a friend." I answered, burying my face in Socks' soft fur and walking into my room. I put the cat gently on the bed, and pawed through my wardrobe looking for something to wear that was fit for normal human interaction. 

After rummaging for what seemed like hours, I picked up a pair of black jeans and a red shirt that were buried at the back of the bottom shelf, freezing in place when I realised what they were. The clothes fell through my lifeless fingers, dropping softly to the floor. They had been last birthday's gift from the bastard who'd broken my heart. 

_Happy birthday. Here, I got you some clothes, try them on. Will be nice to take you out without you looking like a scarecrow for once._

My eyes closed in pain at the memory. No. I shook my head. I was done with all of that. They were nice clothes. Way nicer than anything else I owned, and I'd be damned if I was going to let memories of him hold me hostage. It stopped now, I decided, stooping to pick the clothes up off the floor and placing them on the bed, ready to wear, and adding fresh underwear. 

Full of resolve, I picked up a couple of towels and marched into the bathroom. Turning the water on, I took my sweat-encrusted clothes off, chucking them into the laundry basket, and stepped into the tub and under the steaming water. I gave my hair and body a quick wash and then I stood under the shower stream, letting it relax my tired muscles and soothe my mind until it started to cool down.

I dried myself briskly, and wrapped a towel around my middle, rubbing my hair vigorously with the other one and then standing in front of the mirror to dab at the runnels of diluted blue dye slowly making their way down my neck, the downside of my one vanity. Now that I was no longer in danger of turning into a Smurf, I made my way back to my room, feeling much better than when I'd left it.

I dressed quickly and put some goop on my hair to try to make it less floppy, spiking it up a bit standing in front of the mirror. "Ok, here goes nothing." I said, taking a deep breath and walking back into the living area. He was sitting on the sofa, his back to me, but turned his head when he heard my door open, doing a quick double-take when he saw me. 

"Holy mackerel, Batman!" he exclaimed, turning around fully to kneel on the cushions, his eyes widening as he looked me up and down, mouth agape, "Shit, man, you really scrub up nice!" I stood stock still, surprised by his reaction, and I could feel a fierce blush covering my cheeks, no doubt matching the colour of my shirt, but he wasn't done yet. 

Sitting on his heels and giving me a serious look, he asked, "Why do you even wear them oversized things?" I groaned, thinking that I really wasn't ready for this nosy flatmate/friend thing. But then I realised that he wasn't taking the piss or criticising, that he was genuinely interested in the answer, so instead of following my first instinct and snarling at him to mind his own business, I walked over and perched myself on the edge of the sofa. 

"Because I look like a stick insect—a pale one at that." I said with a sigh, stating the obvious for his benefit. He narrowed his eyes at me, looking so much like his mum that I had to bite my lip to stop from giggling. "Who told you that?" he asked sharply, sobering me up instantly. I looked down at my hands, and he plopped down on his butt to sit cross legged facing me, saying softly, "Boy, that guy really did a number on you, didn't he?"

I nodded, my eyes stubbornly focused on my hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, his artless directness cutting straight through my shields as if they were made of butter. "Hey, look at me." he demanded gently, his hand landing on my knee to squeeze it when I did not comply, "Yo! Bubu! Look at me, man." 

That did it. I looked up with a tiny little quirk of my lips at the gentle taunt to find him looking intently at me, a queasy-looking smile on his face. "Ok, I can't believe I'm about to say this aloud, but here goes." he said, squeezing my knee again for emphasis, "You're gorgeous, man." I opened my mouth to protest, but he rode right over me, "Shut up and let me finish." He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, shaking his head at me and muttering, "Sheesh, learn to take a compliment, why don't you?"

I closed my mouth with a snap, and he went on, nodding firmly, "Yeah, maybe you're not all pretty and such, but..." His hands waved around helplessly for a moment, and eventually he gave up, changing tack, "I don't know what that fucker said or did to make you believe otherwise, but, You. Are. Fucking. Gorgeous." He shrugged a bit at my incredulous look, "Believe me, don't believe me, it's up to you, mate, but it's the truth."

With that, he let go of my knee and stood up, picking up his wallet and keys off the coffee table and walking towards the door. I just sat there staring vacantly at the space he'd been occupying, trying to come to grips with what had just happened. I was broken out of it by his voice, "OI! Snap out of it, it was just a compliment, man. Live with it. Come on, let's go have lunch.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ok, confession time. Until I met him I'd never found another man even the least bit attractive. Yeah, I might have been able to look at a bloke objectively and tell you, 'yeah, that one is kinda good looking', but that would have been the extent of it.

It was not immediate, mind, I had to get past the 'pale, skinny, ferrety-looking little git' first impression. Thinking about it, I think it was his smile; it animated his sharp features, and his incredible eyes shone as though lit from within, a deeper and brighter hue than the blue of his hair. That first day, as we talked and got to know one another, I found myself telling him idiotic things about me just to see him smile.

But it wasn't until the day I moved in that it really hit me, when he walked out of his room, freshly scrubbed, red shirt hugging his body and setting off his eyes and his spiky hair and making his pale skin glow, so that he looked like some exotic, magnificent creature from another dimension. And all I could think as I stared at him with my mouth hanging open and every hair on my body standing on end was, 'oh, my god, you're gorgeous'.

I was more than a little bit spooked by this sudden attraction he'd sparked in me; maybe that's why my mouth got away from me, leading the conversation to places that should probably have been left untouched that early in our acquaintance. So I blurted out forceful compliments and stepped over the line he'd so clearly red-lighted, and let my frustration spill over onto him.

I don't get easily riled up, but the way he didn't seem to be able to see or accept his own worth really got me going, and I was angry, ok? Angry at the way the gloriously vibrant part of him I'd glimpsed that day got snuffed out every time something reminded him of this other guy I was starting to hate with all that I had.

By the time we left the flat, with him a silent, pensive figure by my side, I was already regretting the whole thing. Half way down, I stopped dead in the middle of the staircase. He kept going for a couple of steps until he realised I wasn't by his side, and turned to look up at me, "Did you forget something?" 

I sat down heavily on the steps, shoulders hunched and arms hanging dejectedly between my legs, "I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice." He gave me a half-hearted smirk, "What, telling me I'm gorgeous?" I rolled my eyes at him, "No, being nasty to you because I was angry and frustrated." 

"Ok." He came up the couple of steps that separated us and sat down next to me. I turned around to face him, leaning against the bannister while he mirrored me and leant against the wall, waiting for me to speak.

"I really am sorry." I said again, banging my head against the railing, "Some friend I am. I'm sorry. Please don't throw me out. I really like it here with you." That brought a small smile to his face, "Why would I want to throw you out?" I was about to tell him why, but he shushed me, "Shhh, your turn to shut up now."

Ok. I guess I deserved that, so I shut up and settled down to listen to what he had to say, waving him on. Folding his legs up against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, he chinplanted on his knee, looking up at me from under his lashes as he talked. "Ok, here's the thing, what you said stung." I whimpered, but his eyebrows went up in warning and I piped down. "But..." he paused with a wince, "I thoroughly deserved it. I kind of needed someone to kick start my self-esteem." 

He scooted closer before he went on, kicking my toe without looking at me, "And anyway..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, biting his lip, but he kept going, his voice small and tentative, and I could tell he was blushing even in the stairway's semi-darkness, "No one has ever called me gorgeous before."

"Fuck me, some boyfriend you had!" The words were out before they'd coalesced into conscious thought, and I pressed both my hands over my mouth, eyes wide with horror fixed on his. He flinched as if I had slapped him, and my eyes filled with tears at the pain on his face while I cursed my stupid insensitive fat mouth. 

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was unforgivable. I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry." I forced the stumbled words past the constriction in my throat, tears rolling down my cheeks as my hands hovered uselessly over his hunched form, not quite daring to touch him.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and scooted to sit next to him, throwing my arms around him and holding him tight against me in an awkward sideways embrace, not caring one bit that his knobbly knees were digging painful holes into my ribs. He was dead quiet, but I could feel his tears soaking into my tee while I sniffled into his hair and whispered a continuous stream of 'I'm sorrys'.

After a while, he started twitching in small increments, so I let go of him. He lifted his head to rub his reddened eyes with the heels of his hands, saying, "Thank you, Pup." when he was done, smiling a watery little smile. I stared at him, dumbfounded, through my tears. "Huh?" was all I was able to manage. I'd expected to be evicted for sure, and he was thanking me? I was all awash, no idea of what was going on, so I just sat there with my mouth hanging slack, "Wha...?" 

He sat closer and lifted my arm, slipping under it so it was hugging his shoulders and leaning into me, exactly the same way as my old dog used to do when he was looking for affection. "It wasn't what you said that hurt," he said quietly, playing with his shirt buttons, "it was realising that it was the truth." He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but then shook himself a little and started again, huddling closer, "I'd been making excuses for him even after we broke up, trying to hang on to an image of him I'd made up in my mind and had nothing to do with the reality of our relationship."

He tilted his head to look up at me, "And you know what the worst part of it all is?" I wasn't sure that I wanted to know at all, but I shook my head and let him tell me. "The worst part is that I let him walk all over me, let him strip me of every bit of confidence I had; allowed him to use my lack of self-esteem as a weapon to control me. I behaved like a battered wife, making excuses for him every time he hurt my feelings, and I still mourn his loss, despite the casual cruelty of his words when he left me."

My arm tightened around his shoulders, and I wished I could take the pain away from him. It tainted his voice, deadening it as he told his tale and making my chest hurt, a surging righteous anger on his behalf almost choking me. He was quiet for a few moments, and I didn't break the silence, hoping that he was done; I really didn't want to know any more.

He went on, though, and I didn't begrudge him this opportunity to unburden himself. "The day he left..." he stopped, bunching a handful if my tee in his grip, then started again, his voice steadier.

_"I'm leaving." he says the moment I walk through the door. I drop my messenger bag, heavy with books, and stand frozen in the open doorway, uncomprehending. "It's over. I'm leaving you. I'm already packed, so you can spare me your whining."_

_Like an automaton, I walk to the couch and sit down before my legs give way. "Why?" I ask pitifully, hating myself for the plaintive note in my voice. He looks at me with an ugly sneer on his lovely face, "Because you're no longer convenient, love."_

_I look at him in horrified shock, and he laughs, going on, relentless, his voice harsh through the buzzing in my ears. "Playing house was ok for a while, but honey, look at you... I could do much better—I have, in fact, done much better, multiple times."_

_I don't want to hear any more. The buzzing in my ears becames a rush and my whole body breaks out in cold clammy sweat, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands until they break the skin in my effort not to pass out. "Please, don't." I say weakly._

_"Don't what?" he scoffs, his eyes cold on me, "God, you're pitiful. The only reason I've put up with you for two whole years is because you're a filthy little slut, but I'm sick of your clingy, needy nonsense." Heedless of the tears running down my face, he turns around and, picking up the bags I had failed to noticed sitting ominously next to the door, walks out of my life without another word._

I sat there, holding him while he spoke, gritting my teeth in an effort to remain silent and not break something. Preferably the nameless evil fucker's head. And as I listened in horrified disbelief, I was surprised at the realisation that, despite having known him for less than one day, I would have walked through fire for him; I wanted to don shiny armour and mount a white stallion and wage war on his behalf.

Neither of us spoke for a while after he was done. He slumped exhaustedly against me, looking all done in, and I don't think I could have uttered a word if I'd tried, I was so filled with horror and anger, and paralysed by a feeling of impotence. I didn't know what to do. I'd never been faced with that kind of cruelty, and I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of it.

Eventually, the fact that we were just sitting in a dark and drafty stairway filtered through, and I figured that getting going and getting some food into us would probably be the best course of action. Mum often said that warm food in your belly wouldn't solve your problems, but it helped you face them. But first I had to get him up and moving.

With a sigh, I brushed no longer spiky hair off his face, "Hey, you with me?" It took him a while, but he nodded, and I figured that was a good thing. "Shall we go have that lunch you promised me? And I could murder a pot of tea right now." He lifted his head off my shoulder with a visible effort, but at least he was trying.

I tried not to flinch at the sight of him, all blotchy and eyes raw and swollen, tears and most likely snot smeared all over his face—and my tee—and little runnels of blue dye peeking through his hairline behind his left ear where my tears had seeped through. I dug in my pocket for a hanky and passed it to him, and he blotted ineffectually at his face. I watched for a moment, and then took the thing off his hand and, holding his chin steady, removed the worst of the gunk while he sat passively looking at me with huge eyes.

"Here, blow your nose," I said gently, "otherwise you'll have the mother of a sinus headache later." Taking the now crumpled hanky, he blew lustily a few times and then offered it mutely back to me. "No, man, I'm good," I said with a giggle, "you can keep it." After a moment, though, I remembered the little blue runnels, "Although... Do I have blue dye on my face? 'Cos if I do, you'd better wipe it off."

He nodded, "Yeah, a bit." Smiling just a tiny bit, he scooted up to rub the bunched fabric vigorously against the side of my nose. "Ow! Easy! I'm quite attached to my skin." I yelped, batting at his hand, and out went the smile like a light. "Sorry. It won't come off." he said contritely, letting his hand fall limply to his lap.

"Ah, never mind," I said with a sigh, "I'll just have to live with people thinking I'm a weird nutter." That got me a giggle, and I was so happy to see his eyes light up again that I could have danced. "You ok?" I asked, and when he nodded I stood up and took his wrists, pulling him to his feet, "Come on, let's go eat." 

 


	6. Chapter 6

He had this incredibly engaging manner about him, a captivating mix of gentleness and strength, wisdom and naïveté. There was no subterfuge to him, his forthright honesty refreshing and comforting, effortlessly compelling my trust.

In the space of a few hours he managed to crack me wide open, making me face myself and look beyond the careful construct of denial and wishful thinking I'd built around the last two years of my life. And in the process he laid claim to my heart without me even noticing.

He held me while I cried, and listened patiently without comment or judgement while I told him what I never thought I'd ever tell another human being. And once I was done, he brought me back to myself with his easy, unfussy affection, calmly offering comfort and blotting tears and snot off a virtual stranger's face without batting an eyelid.

By the time he got me to my feet and walked me down the stairs and out onto the street, his hand cupping my elbow as if he was worried I'd stumble and fall, I was feeling almost like myself again. He stopped at the end of the alley and turned to me, "Which way?" I looked left and right, "I guess it depends what you feel like." I paused, thinking back to his earlier words, "If you feel like tea and some decent cafe food, there is a place I normally go to that is quite nice."

He beamed down at me, "Sounds good to me!" So I turned right and retraced my steps to my breakfast hangout with him walking silently next to me, looking around and taking in the sights of the High Street on a busy Saturday afternoon. "Here we are." I said, pushing the door open, motioning for him to go through. 

He stopped dead in the doorway, saying, "WOW, nice!" and I walked right into him, bouncing back a couple of steps—it was like hitting a solid wall. "Oops, sorry man!" he said, turning around with a sheepish smile and moving to one side to let me in. I made a beeline for my favourite corner table, and he followed me, sinking in the armchair with a loud sigh and checking out the warm, comfortable, busy space, "This place is awesome!!"

"Yeah, I really like it. I'm kind of a regular." I handed him the menu, "Pick what you feel like and I'll go order." After a moment's intent perusal of the single sheet, he looked up with a smile, "Could I have the chicken melt thing, please? And lots of tea?"

"What happened to ordering the most expensive item on the menu?" He looked at me, all wide eyed innocence, "Didn't fancy it." Before I could say anything, he grinned cheekily and went on, "But I reserve the right to order a sweet and more tea later." I nodded with a smile, "Fair enough." and saying, "I'll be right back." I got up and made my way to the counter to place our order. 

I watched him while I waited in the queue, at ease, arms propped on the table and chin resting on his hand, watching the world go by outside the window, and wondered what it would be like to feel so comfortable in your own skin. I was brought out of my musings as the couple in front of me moved away from the counter, so I moved up to order my usual BLT—ultra crispy bacon, please—his chicken melt thing, and the 'Bucket o'Tea', a humongous pot of tea that came complete with tea cosy, two china mugs, and a generous jug of milk. 

Dutifully taking the little number thingy I went back to the table, and he looked back from the window as I sat down, smiling at me with eyes bright with excitement, "I love this place. Can we make it our local?" I laughed, "It kinda is my local. And shouldn't you wait until you try the food before you make that kind of decision?" He gave me a pained look, "Even if the food is shite I still would want to come here. Armchairs, man! And people watching. Who cares about the food?"

Ok, the kid had a point, and I nodded, "Mmmm, yeah, that's why I started coming here in the first place. That and the fact that they don't look at you funny if you spend hours here on your own, reading or whatever." He smiled at me, pleased that I agreed with him, and I went on, "But the food really is good, you'll see."

Right on cue, our food arrived, and his eyes widened in appreciation at the sight of the teapot, "Oh, brilliant! A real teapot, not one of them mincy little things that hold just a thimbleful of tea." I watched him with a silly little smile on my face as he played Mother, fussing with pot and strainer and milk until we each had a steaming mug in front of us.

It wasn't until he'd had a sip of his tea and pronounced it good that he turned his attention to his food, eyes closing in delight as he chewed, "Oh, man, this is so good." I watched him wolf his food down while I took small, careful bites of my sandwich; he ate the way he did everything else, with a straightforward enjoyment that was beautiful to see, and I had a sudden urge to cook for him, to see his eyes light up in delight as he ate something I'd made for him.

That thought stopped me short, sandwich halfway to my mouth and warning bells ringing shrilly inside my head. Whoa, Nelly!!! Dropping the food back on my plate, I fell back into the chair, my eyes doing a pretty good saucer impression."What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost." I shook myself, muttering, "Nothing. I'm good." and took a big bite of the sandwich so I had an excuse not to talk. He gave me a long look, seeing right through the obvious lie, but let it go through to the keeper, "Ok." 

I breathed a discreet sigh of relief when he went back to his people watching and his food, leaving me to my inner spazz. No way, I thought frantically. Not after just one day—Rebound! That was it. It had to be. He was lovely and fun and he'd been kind to me, so I was getting a silly rebound crush on him. Yup. Rebound crush. Because what kind of nutter falls for his new flatmate on the first day?

I took a deep breath and took a long sip of my tea, making an effort to behave with some semblance of normalcy and not turn into an awkward moron. Noticing he'd finished his melt thing, I asked, "Ready for your sweet?" He smiled, leaning back and rubbing his stomach, "Nah, I need a moment to let this stuff go down." He looked down at my plate and frowned a little, "And anyway, you have hardly eaten anything yet. I'll wait until you're done."

I looked at the remains of my mostly uneaten BLT lying forlornly on the plate and made a face, "Gone off it. I'll have something sweet when you're ready." He gave me another long assessing look, opened his mouth to say something, shut it again with a shake of his head, and picked up the teapot, "Fair enough. More tea?" I bit my lip, and nodded, "Yeah, ta." amused and more than a little bit thankful at his obvious effort to stop himself from prying.

It didn't last long, though, "Can I ask you a question?" Here we go... "You just did, Pup." He rolled his eyes at me, "Yeah, hilarious, dude. Seriously, though." I sighed, resigned, "Go on, then." He folded his arms on the table and chinplanted on them, looking up at me, "Why?" I looked back at him with blankly, "Why what?" He scooted closer, his face thoughtful, "Why did you stay with him?" He stopped for a moment, but went on before I managed to answer, "I mean, from what you said it sounds like he was a right bastard to you, so why did you stay?" Ah, yes, the million dollar question. The one question I'd asked myself time and time and time again. 

I looked down at my hands, "Dunno. Because I loved him, I guess." The table moved with a rattle of cutlery on plates, and by the time I looked up he'd pushed his armchair right next to mine, "Nah. I don't buy that. Loving someone only goes so far, I reckon." His hand landed on my forearm, "Look, you don't have to tell me, I'm just the nosy flatmate, and I can't even imagine how hard it would be to talk about something like that, but don't lie to yourself. You're better than that." 

He was right, of course. Once again he'd managed to cut right to the heart of it. I folded one leg under me and half turned towards him, leaning my forehead on the chair's wing, "I was scared." He frowned, "Of him?" I shook my head, "No, he never hurt me... not physically." 

"Well, thank god for small mercies!" he blurted out, followed by a sheepish, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." and a mouth zipping gesture, making me giggle despite the tense atmosphere that surrounded us like a bubble. "I was afraid of being alone." I said after a moment, "It's stupid, really... I'm a bit of a loner, but I don't really do well on my own. Not full time. And since I don't do well with strangers either..." 

I picked at a loose thread on the armrest, and he kept quiet, watching me with soft eyes, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my wrist, letting me finish at my own pace, "It just becomes a vicious circle. I get lonely, so I get depressed, then I try to get out of it and go out and meet people, so I get anxious, which makes me go right back into my shell, so I get lonely..." I made myself look at him, "So I stayed. He was someone to come home to. Someone to hold me at night. The way he treated me was the price I paid to have someone in my life. I guess he was right, after all: I'm clingy and needy. And pathetic." 

His fingers clenched on my arm and his eyes were fierce on mine as he said through gritted teeth, "No. You're not!!!" He unclenched his teeth with a visible effort, leaning closer until we were almost nose to nose, and letting go of my arm to touch my face with his fingertips, "You're gorgeous, and funny, and vibrant, and amazing, and any guy should count himself lucky to have you in his life." He paused for a moment, but he wasn't done. With a little puzzled frown, he went on softly, almost as if to himself, "I know I do."


	7. Chapter 7

It was a memorable lunch. In all kinds of ways. I loved the place at first sight, and I understood straight away why it appealed to him. It had the same vibe as the flat, the mismatched furniture, the sagging but comfy-looking armchairs, the flowering window boxes, the vibrant colours...

It felt like a home away from home. And it had large windows onto the High Street, so it was a people watcher's paradise. And the food! It was brilliant food, and they had these proper man-sized teapots with enough tea in them to drown in. Yeah, I loved the place.

I knew that after his stairway confession he probably needed something familiar, and I was just excess baggage, but still, I couldn't help it. I felt really happy that he'd decided to share his hangout with me. And that he seemed to be almost back to normal, teasing me about not carrying through my threat to bankrupt him with my order.

That didn't last long, though, he went all funny on me half way through the meal, looking completely spooked out, but he clearly didn't want to go there, so I let him be. For a little while, anyway. I was flummoxed, ok? I couldn't understand why someone like him would stay in a clearly unhappy relationship. Yeah, I know, it was none of my business, but it bothered me.

So I asked the question, not really expecting an answer, but instead of telling me to go to hell and mind my own business, he told me the reason, and my heart shrivelled in my chest as I listened to him. His answer spoke of loneliness and insecurities and fear and, more worrying to me, an unmistakeable note of self-hatred.

When he went on to speak of himself using the evil fucker's disparaging words—'clingy', 'needy'—and adding 'pathetic' off his own bat, something gave inside me. Remember the shiny armour and the white stallion and the waging of war thing? Yeah. That happened. I was so angry! But more than that, I wanted to make things right. 

I wanted to wash him clean of that guy, make him forget the fucker even existed, help him find a way out of the aftermath of grief and guilt and self-loathing. I wanted to take care of him, and spoil him, and make him laugh, and be the one he came home to, and hold him in my arms until he felt safe.

I had no idea where it all came from and, to tell you the truth, I couldn't find a single solitary fuck to give. It was there, and there was no walking away from it. I distantly wondered whether feeling like this about just this one bloke—and one I'd only just met, at that—made me a weirdo, but again the care factor was in the below zero region.

I turned in the chair to face him, mirroring his position with my forehead resting on the chair's wing, so close that our noses almost touched, and lifted my hand to his face, my fingers light on his cheek, wondering at the incredible softness of his skin. "You're gorgeous, and funny, and vibrant, and amazing, and any guy should count himself lucky to have you in his life." I said fiercely. 

It was probably more than I'd intended to say, and possibly more than I should have said, but the words were out before I could stop them. And then I heard myself say, as if from very far away, "I know I do." 

I don't know which of us was more surprised, really. We both just sat there staring at one another with startled eyes, my hand falling limp onto the chair's padded arm. Holy crap!! Did I need a filter between my brain and my mouth or what?? I closed my eyes, my ears burning furiously in an agony of embarrassment, and waited for him to say something. Anything. Even if it was to tell me he was getting a restraining order on me.

When he finally did, he spoke so softly that, had I not been listening intently, I may have missed it, "Did you mean that?" I nodded, eyes still bashfully closed, not trusting my mouth. "Look at me, Pup." he said, placing his hand on mine, a shiver running through me at his touch. I opened my eyes, and gasped, butterflies taking flight in my stomach, when they were met by bottomless blue fixed intently on them. 

Neither of us moved for an endless moment, and then, without removing his eyes form mine, he tilted his head and, ever so slowly, closed the almost non-existent distance between us. It was a barely there touch of lips, soft and tentative, but it felt like a sucker punch, my eyes rolling back in my head and all my breath leaving me in a rush as every single nerve ending in my body came alive. 

He pulled back a bit to look at me with huge eyes for the space of a heartbeat, and then his mouth was on mine again for a proper kiss, our lips moving sweetly together until I thought I'd die of it. I whined when I felt him pull away, blindly moving forward trying to keep our lips sealed, but his hand on my chest held me in place.

Confused, I opened my eyes to look at him, and the look on his face sent icy fingers clutching at my heart. I shook my head as he let his hand fall away from my chest and took a breath to speak, "Don't you dare!" I whispered, on the verge of tears, my eyes fixed on my hands as they twisted in the hem of my tee, "I swear to god, if you say you're sorry I'll punch your lights out."

"Pup..." I stubbornly kept my eyes down, although the icy grip on my heart relaxed a bit at his use of the endearment. "Pup!" this time his hand closed on both of mine, stopping me from ripping the fabric, and he craned his neck to put himself in my line of vision. "I'm not sorry that I kissed you... I didn't want to stop kissing you." I looked up at that, hopeful, and he squeezed my hands briefly before he let go. "But..." 

My face fell at 'but', and I could feel my lower lip pushing out into a pout. He pushed it back in gently with his finger, smiling a little, "Don't pout at me. I don't have that much self control." He sighed before he continued where he'd let off, "What I want and what I should do are two different things." I frowned at him petulantly, muttering, "What does that even mean?" 

I was ready to argue, but he went on, "Let me finish, please. What I mean is that it's too fast, too soon. You only just moved in, and I come with a fuckton of baggage that I need to work through." He hesitated for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek, but then he squared his bony shoulders and leant forward, spidery fingers closing on my wrist, "I'm damaged goods at the moment, Pup. You've seen how brittle and raw I am. I don't think this is a good idea." 

Making a frustrated little noise, his eyes turned inwards, and when he spoke again I had the feeling that he was talking to himself, "I don't know what this is. I feel better when you are around, you make me feel alive again, but I don't know what this is." He lifted his eyes to mine, "Do you?" I shook my head, "No. But I'm willing to find out." 

His grip tightened almost painfully on my wrist, "Are you really? Have you thought this through? Because I don't think I could handle starting something with you if it's going nowhere." My eyes widened, and he went on softly, "You just kissed a bloke, Pup. Take that thought to its natural conclusion. Do you see yourself there?" 

No. He was right, I hadn't thought it through. But his words led me there, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. I closed my eyes as a wild rush of desire washed through me at the somewhat vague, but nonetheless arousing, reel of images my brain helpfully supplied. "Only if it's you there with me." I finally answered him.

The sounds of the cafe became loud in the sudden silence between us, and for a moment I thought he hadn't heard me. Deep down I kind of hoped he hadn't, because I didn't quite know what to do with this sudden revelation, and didn't really want to find out how it was going to be received. I was bracing myself to sneak a peek at him when, with no more warning than a soft rustle of fabric on fabric and an intake of breath, his hands were framing my face, and he was kissing me again, his lips frantic on mine.

Just as suddenly, before I'd managed to get my bearings, he was gone, and I just sat there trying to catch my breath for a moment and collect my scattered brains enough to speak. "What happened to this not being a good idea?" I asked breathlessly. "Dunno." he answered as he leant back on his chair, looking as bewildered as I felt. "Ok." I said, thinking that it was a good enough answer for the time being. 

With a muffled groan, I sat up and pulled the table closer, to check the teapot. It was still hot under its woollen cosy, so I poured us some more tea. It was nursery-tea dark, but I didn't really care. On second thought, nursery tea was possibly just what we needed, so I added generous amounts of milk and sugar to each mug, stirring his before putting it on the table in front of him, nudging his leg with mine to get his attention. "Here, there's your tea." 

He just sat there, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, so I picked up his mug, squeezing his knee to get his attention, "Hey, Bubu, I poured you some tea, it's still hot." He took the offered mug, "Ta." and took a sip, his face scrunching up at the sugary milky taste, "Ugh! sweet!" but he still drank it in two long gulps, making me giggle at his exaggerated shudder. 

"How about I get us a sweet and a fresh pot? You've hardly eaten anything, and I'm still a bit peckish." He nodded his agreement, "Sounds good." I got the menu out of its cardholder thingy, to have a look at what was on offer, and the moment my eyes scanned the dessert section I knew what I was going to have, "Rhubarb crumble! They have rhubarb crumble, Bubu!" I exclaimed excitedly, "Is it any good?" He nodded with a chuckle, and it was good to see laughter light up his face. "Yeah, it's brilliant. That's my favourite too." We grinned at one another, "Great minds..." 

I pushed myself off the chair, "Ok, two rhubarb crumbles and a humongous pot of tea coming up. Don't go anywhere." I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the counter to place the order, and had to restrain myself from looking back at him, but by the time I came back to our table with our little number on a stick, he was curled up in his chair, absently looking out of the window, idly watching the crowds of late afternoon shoppers passing by.

"Back." I said, plopping down on the chair and putting the number on the table, "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" He looked back from the window, "Not much. Just people rushing about." His face lit up giving me a glimpse of his crooked toothed smile, hands waving about as he went on, "Oh! There was this guy with a bunch of little Dachshund puppies on leashes, and they kept getting tangled. Pity you missed them. They were really cute."

I reached over to ruffle his hair, "Aaawwww. My flatmate, the five year old, ladies and gentlemen!" That earned me a clip to the back of my head, "Cheeky pup!" I grinned smugly at him, poking him in the ribs with my forefinger, "Careful there, Bubu, ticklish people shouldn't start wars they are bound to lose, because they are... you know, ticklish." He yelped, curling into a tight ball on the chair, hissing between mad giggles, "Get away from me, you maniac!"

He was saved from an all-out ticklefest by the arrival of our order, the waiter biting his lip hard in his valiant effort not to laugh at our antics. By the time our sweets and tea were steaming on the table, the aroma of rhubarb and crusty crumble making my mouth water, the ticklish little bugger was still making like an armadillo. Muttering about overreacting drama queens, I booted his pointy arse, the only part of him I could actually reach.

"OI! You can come out now. Or not." I shrugged, "More crumble for me." That got him straightened up and pushing his chair close to the table in no time at all, poking his tongue at me as he took possession of his bowl. "Yeah, good one." He'd already lost me, though, because my mouth was full of sweet, tart, buttery, crusty, custardy deliciousness, "Oh, fuck me." I said, moaning ecstatically, "This is even better than my gran's!!" 

"Ok, flat rule," he said through a huge mouthful, his bowl already nearly empty, "whoever finishes first, has dibs on the other's food." I put my arm protectively around my bowl and hunched around it, smirking at him as I shovelled more goodness into my mouth, "I'd like to see you try, Bubu." He pouted at me, "But I'm hungry! You had your chicken melt thing." I rolled my eyes, "Seriously, man? I should be the one taking your crumble off you, I'm about three times your size, and still growing. I need all the nourishment I can get."

"Pfffftttt." I swear to god, he actually blew a raspberry at me. And tried to get past me to steal food off my bowl, earning himself a rap of my spoon on his knuckles for his efforts. Five. Tops. But I was happy to see him going back to his easy manner with me. I'd been worried that things would be tense between us, which would have made for a very uncomfortable shared flat.

We frittered most of the afternoon away in a crumble coma, chatting idly, sipping tea, and people watching, enjoying one another's company. Being friends. And I figured that as long as we had this friendship, we'd eventually work out the rest.


	8. Chapter 8

I kissed him. I went and kissed him. I knew all the reasons why I shouldn't... just met, flatmate, rebound, baggage... Oh, yeah, forgot one minor detail... straight. And none of it meant a thing as I found myself brushing his lips with mine. That first light touch felt so right, so perfect, that I pulled back to look at him in wonder. 

I kissed him again and, when he kissed me back, all the scattered broken pieces of me coalesced and came together—no, not yet healed whole, but realigned into their right order, giving them a chance to heal, just as the edges of a wound need to be touching so that they are able to scab over and repair the damage.

And yet... Even as I felt whole for the first time in almost two years, a voice inside my head was screaming at me, "What are you doing? He's straight, you fucking idiot, STRAIGHT!! Way to set yourself up for getting your heart broken again!!" 

Fear and my chronic insecurities won and, placing my hand on his chest, I pulled away. I was scared, ok? I was falling for him, it was way too soon, and I was paralysed with fear of this whirlwind of feelings he sparked in me. Yes, he'd kissed me back, caught in the moment, but the voice in my head was right, I had to face reality—he was straight, and this was going nowhere, other than frustration and heartache.

He was genuinely upset at my change of heart and, when he wouldn't listen to reason, I was perhaps more brutal than I should have been, "You just kissed a bloke, Pup. Take that thought to its natural conclusion. Do you see yourself there?" He took a while to answer me, and I watched with an internal wince as his eyes closed and his nostrils flared in what I assumed to be disgust at the picture I'd painted for him. 

"Only if it's you there with me." he finally replied, his voice breathy but steady, turning my world upside down. My heart soared with hope and, god help me, I flew at him and kissed him again, frantically, surprising the hell out of both of us. Yes, it was probably still a bad ideas, and I still had no clue of whether we could make it work, but if he was willing to try I would put my heart on the line for him.

Fear still clutched at me, though, but he distracted me with tea and rhubarb crumble and, to my relief, we soon settled back into easy, comfortable banter, squabbling over the remains of his dessert without any sign of awkwardness. We spent the rest of the afternoon doing nothing much at all, a tacit agreement in place to let this thing between us play its course without forcing it, and enjoy our friendship regardless of whatever else may grow out of it. 

By the time we made it home, the High Street was emptying of shoppers and the early autumn light was starting to fade. He groaned at the sight of the boxes still piled up in his room, "I'd better finish unpacking, or I'll be living out of boxes for he rest of my life." I leant against the doorframe, "Want a hand?" He looked around with a frown, "Nah, ta, there isn't enough room in here for both of us and the bloody boxes." 

I nodded, "Ok. I might as well get started on tea, then. Any requests?" He grinned at me, "How about that much vaunted bolognese of yours? See how it stacks up to mum's." The cheeky sod! "Challenge accepted!" I said with a chuckle, pushing off, "I'll go get changed. Give me a shout if you need help with anything, yeah?" With a breezy 'K' he set to it, and I walked the two steps to my room.

I changed back into my oversized black togs, and stood in front of the mirror, seeing myself with new eyes. I really did look like a bit of a dowd in them, I thought, in comparison to the jeans and shirt ensemble, and I promised myself there and then to go shopping for new clothes during the week, make a bit more of an effort at being human—or at least looking human. I smiled at my reflection. It would seem I was finally turning over a new leaf. 

Cheered by that thought and my resolution to give myself a makeover, I headed to the kitchen. Putting Rach on the stereo and humming softly to his Piano Concerto no. 1, I got my large cast iron pan off the rack and went about the kitchen gathering the ingredients, ticking them off my mental recipe book: beef and pork mince, parmesan and romano cheese, tomatoes, carrots, onions and garlic from the fridge; fresh basil, oregano and thyme from the window boxes; and finally red wine, olive oil, salt and pepper, and spaghetti from the pantry.

Soon I was surrounded by the comforting aroma of sautéing garlic, onion and meat, and was busy at the chopping block, peeling and chopping tomatoes, grating carrots and chopping herbs. "Oh, my god, Bubu, that smells delicious!!" I was so engrossed in the familiar tasks and the music that I hadn't heard him come in, and I nearly chopped a finger off as the knife slipped in my hand. 

"Jesus christ, Pup, give a guy a heart attack, why don't you?" I said, sucking on the small nick on the side of my middle finger. He gave me a sheepish smile, "Oops, sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You ok?" I nodded, going back to my chopping, "Yeah, just a nick." I heard him moving behind me, and heard the pan's lid rattle as he lifted it. "Don't you even think about it, buster, get away from my bolognese!" I said without turning, smiling at the expected, "Aaawwww." 

He did as he was told, though, coming around to prop his butt on the sideboard, "Can I help?" I shook my head, "Nah, I'm good, ta, nearly done." I thought for a second, then added, "You could open the wine and pour us a glass, though." I smiled my thanks at him when he placed the wineglass on the chopping board, and took a sip before gathering all the chopped ingredients and dropping them into the pan. 

"Would you please bring the wine over?" I said, looking up from stirring the fragrant mix. As he passed me the bottle, our fingers brushed, and I couldn't suppress the shiver that went through me, but he was too fixed on the food to notice, "Fuck me! that smells even better now. You really are a good cook!" 

With a muted 'thank you', I concentrated on breathing normally as I poured a generous slurp of wine into the pan, giving the almost-sauce a good stir before turning down the gas and placing the lid back on. "Right," I said, going back to the chopping block and having a long sip of my wine, "that should take about an hour, I'll get the pasta started later." 

He raised his eyebrows at me in query, "Couch and TV?" I nodded, making my way back to the living area, "Sounds like a plan." He lingered to turn the stereo and the light off, and by the time he came out I was stretched out on the couch, idly flicking channels with my wine glass balanced on my chest. "You're going to end up wearing that." he said as he walked around the coffee table, taking the glass off me and placing it on the table. 

Without another word, he put one arm under my knees, lifted, plopped himself down right in the middle of the couch, and let my legs fall back down across his thighs. "What?" he challenged at my startled look, resting his arms on my shins, "You were hogging the couch." I gaped at him, and he went on, quietly assertive, "And this thing is a thing, and we're not hiding from it."

Well, I thought, that was me told. I floundered a bit, but then I realised he was right. This thing was, indeed, a thing. And ignoring it was not going to help. But I had no idea how to deal with it either, and I blurted out in frustration, "What, so we just jump in bed together?" I sort of expected him to be shocked, but he laughed, patting my leg, "Steady on, Bubu, I’m not that easy. You haven't even bought me dinner yet."

Ok, I have to admit, the easy, gentle tease was funny. And an incredible turn on. Glad I was wearing my loose trackies, I squirmed a little, giggling, "I'm making you dinner, you twat." He grinned at me, a glint in his eyes, "Oh, yeah, so you are." He paused for effect, "Ok then." My head came up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, my eyebrows lifting so high that they needed oxygen masks, "What??" 

For a moment, for just the brief moment it took for my brain to catch up and realise he was just teasing, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like, being with him. I imagined what it would feel like to lie in his arms, to feel his body on mine, to have his lips and his hands on my skin, to have him fill me. I imagined his eyes smiling at me as we lay tangled together. I imagined. And it scared me, realising how much I wanted him.

He collapsed sideways on the couch, laughing like a maniac, "Oh, god, you really are easy, man." I let my head drop back down, not sure whether to laugh or cry but, in the end, his laughter tipped me on the side of laughing. I tried to keep a straight face while he giggled, even as he lay awkwardly on his side against the back of the couch with his legs trapped under mine. "Har, har. Yeah, fucking hilarious." I mock-growled, flicking his forehead, "You done taking the piss, you cheeky monkey?" Still giggling weakly, he answered, "Yeah, sorry. Couldn't resist." 

After a moment, he lifted himself up on an elbow, "Lift your legs, will you? I'm losing circulation here." I muttered, "Serves you right." but I did free his legs, and he swivelled them onto the couch and wriggled up the cushions until he was level with me, chinplanting on my shoulder and making doe eyes at me, "Come on, you thought it was funny too, I saw you trying not to laugh." With a smug smirk, he went on, "I really wish you could've seen your face, though."

Turning my back on him, I huffed half-heartedly, "Yeah, whatever." and went back to flicking channels. "Hey, Bubu, don't sulk." he said, taking the remote out of my hand and pulling me back, and my incipient strop evaporated as he looked down at me with his soft wounded puppy eyes and said, "I'm sorry, please don't be upset with me." I raised my hand to touch his face, "I'm not upset with you, Pup. I'm just..." I hesitated, looking down and biting my lip, not knowing how to go on, and after a few moments, he prompted gently, "You're just?" 

I took a deep breath and took the plunge, my mouth getting away from me, "I'm falling for you hard and fast, and it scares me. I've spent the last two weeks just... not being, and all of a sudden you're here and you make me feel alive again. I don't know whether what I feel is real or just some weird rebound thing. I have no idea what to do, how to handle this. Even if it's real, I don't know whether I'm ready. I'm afraid of getting hurt. I'm afraid of hurting you, because when I'm scared I lash out. I'm afraid to touch you because I want you so much, and I don't think I would be able to stop myself. And I don't think that would be a very good idea, because..."

He stopped the torrent of words with his lips, and my eyes fluttered closed, my brain shutting down completely as he kissed me. Letting go way too soon, he gave my lips a quick final peck, saying, "You think too much." I stared at him, trying to form coherent words, but all I could manage was, "You kissed me." He chuckled at my surprised tone, and no doubt stupidly shocked face, "No shit, Sherlock!"

"Why?" was all I could manage, and he rolled his eyes at me, "Because it was the fastest way to shut you up." My hand fell off his face, and my face fell with it. "Oh, for christ's sake, Bubu," he sighed, giving me an exasperated look, "Stop being so literal. I was kidding, you pillock." He leant in to kiss my pout, "I kissed you because, in case you haven't noticed, you idiot, I've fallen for you like a lead balloon. And that's a big deal for me, what with you being a bloke and all. And I figured you weren't going to kiss me again, like, ever," he shrugged, "so I decided to take the initiative."

He seemed to have an infinite capacity to render me speechless, so once again I gaped at him while he matter-of-factly set the TV on a football match and picked up a couple of cushions to use them as pillows. He then proceeded to roll me until I was again lying on my side, snaked his right arm under me until it was supporting my neck, his hand splayed on my chest, and placed his left hand on my hip, saying, "Now stop being a worrybug, and let's watch the match.".

Head reeling, I lay there dazedly, my body rigidly still, wondering at his sudden assertive confidence. Soon, though, the warmth of his solid body against mine and the comfort of his hand idly stroking small circles on my chest conspired to relax me, and I sank back into him with a sigh, smiling at his contented little hum when he felt my body give in. "Alright?" he asked softly. I nodded, "Yeah." and he kissed the back of my neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Good."


	9. Chapter 9

You'd think I'd be the one with the issue, wouldn't you? After all, I was the odd one out, the straight guy falling for his just-met gay flatmate. I kept thinking I probably should be freaking out, or something, but I just took it in my stride; being with him felt as natural as breathing, while he was the one having the freak out. Mind you, I wasn't the one hanging on by the skin of my teeth after someone had broken me and then stomped on the pieces, so perhaps it wasn't so weird after all.

I knew he was scared; who wouldn't, after what he'd been through? And I was a wildcard in his life, at a time when he was still fragile and vulnerable. I understood his reluctance, his mistrust in his feelings—and mine. But that did not change the fact that those feelings, the physical attraction between us, the longing I saw in his eyes and I knew was in mine, were real, and there was no running away from them. 

Was it a risk? Hell, yeah. On both our parts. But I knew with a certainty that would not be denied, regardless of the fact that he'd been in my life for just over 24 hours, that it was a risk well worth taking. 

In the end, I took matters in my own hands. I decided to be myself. I'd been brought up in a closely knit extended family where outward displays of affection and physical contact were the norm, regardless of sex or age. It was a form of communication. A language of touch and smiles and hugs and kisses that let you know you were connected, loved, safe. 

I figured that perhaps it would work with him too, break through his barriers and take the edge off his pain and his fear. He was starved of touch and warmth and simple uncomplicated affection, and I figured that, if everything else failed, he would get that from me, no matter what, no questions asked.

And it kind of worked, in the end. Although perhaps I shouldn't have taken the piss when the poor love was trying to come to grips with my sudden assertiveness, but really, it was too good to pass up. So I teased him, which led to him sulking, which led to me apologising, which led to him blurting out all his fears, which led to me kissing him, because... 

Because I couldn't bear to listen to him talking himself out of giving this thing a try. Because it was the only way to stop the frantic onslaught of words. Because I'd been dying to feel his lips on mine again, and I figured he wasn't going to kiss me any time soon.

Kissing him felt like coming home. It felt right, and I didn't want to let go. I wanted to kiss him all day and all night and every day and every night from that moment until the end of time. I loved everything about that kiss. From his little surprised intake of breath when I stopped his running mouth with mine, to the cute gaping pout he made when I let go. And everything in between. 

That first kiss in the coffee shop was a tentative, uncertain beginning, a question mark, if you will. This kiss was an affirmation—an emphatic 'yes' and a declaration of intent on my part, and a cautiously hopeful acceptance on his. It was a start, but his doubts and insecurities re-surfaced the moment I let go of his lips. "Why?" he asked, and my careless, flippant answer nearly sent him right back into his shell. So I told him why. Not all of it, but enough. 

I'm not sure I could have articulated everything I felt, even if I thought he could have handled it, skittish as he was. He was right about one thing, though, it was too much, too fast, too soon. I'd never felt about anyone the way I felt about him. It was as if he'd triggered every one of my switches all at once, and I knew I'd need to be careful and take it slowly to avoid spooking him more than he already was.

Yeah, in the end it kind of worked. I held him and, to my relief and delight, he allowed it. After a few moments, he eventually relaxed and sank into me, all hard angles and restless twitches, his head cradled in the crook of my elbow as we lay on the couch and watched football on TV; and all I could think about was how good his small body felt, warm and snug against mine, new and undiscovered, yet familiar, comfortable, a perfect fit.

For once I did not care one iota about the match. I don't think either of us took in anything happening on the TV screen, both of us too wrapped up in our thoughts and one another. I rested my chin on his shoulder, the soft blue spikes of his hair tickling my face, and closed my eyes, concentrating on learning his scent, the rhythm of his heart, the cadence of his breath. It was strangely peaceful, having him in my arms, feeling his heart slowing to a steady beat under my hand. 

After a while he moved to thread the fingers of his left hand through mine, pulling gently to wrap our linked arms around his middle, "I'm sorry, Pup." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?" I asked just as quietly, and he half turned his upper body to look at me, "For freaking out on you." 

My heart went out to him. He sounded so broken, and he was trying so hard not to be... I wished I could wave a magic wand and make him whole again, but I knew that he needed time to heal. Turning the TV off, I tightened my hold on him, "I should be the one apologising. I shouldn't have pushed you." 

Brushing his temple with my lips, I went on, before he could, "I'll slow down, let you set the pace, yeah? Whatever you're ready for, whatever you want from me is ok with me. Flatmate, friend, drinking buddy, shoulder to cry on... More if you'll let me. But only if that's what you want. I won't push you again. But can we have a flat rule? A real one?" 

He nodded, and I went on, "I'm assuming neither of us can read minds, so we talk about stuff; good stuff and bad stuff and the stuff in between, what we want and what we don't want, what is working and what isn't. Ok?" He nodded again, letting go of my arm, and squirmed until he'd turned himself around to face me. 

For a moment I was lost in his eyes; this close up they revealed the glory of the gold flecks hidden in their dark blue depths, wiping my mind clear of thought. His fingers lightly stroked my face, breaking the spell, "I don't want you to slow down, Pup. I want all those things from you, and more. It's just..." 

He stopped, resting his forehead on mine, "This feels so good... I can barely bring myself to believe it's real." After a moment he pulled back with a little sigh, a faint spark of hope in his eyes, "Be patient with me, I'm trying to find my way, and it's hard for me to trust at the moment. Please don't let me push you away." 

I grinned at him, "Not a chance. You haven't really met my stubborn side yet; ask mum the next time you see her. She says I'm like a terrier with a bone." That made him smile, "Good. I need shaking into shape." I shook my head, my grin disappearing at the way he talked himself down, "No. You need shoring up." He frowned in confusion, "Shoring up?" 

"Hang on..," It was shaping up to being a long conversation, so I shifted until I was lying on my back, head propped up on the cushions, and he curled up against me, his head on my shoulder, fingers worrying restlessly at the fabric of my tee. 

In for a penny... I decided to take the plunge. I placed my hand on his, to stop his fidgeting, "Ok. Tell me to shut the fuck up if I'm overstepping here, yeah?" I waited for him to nod before going on, "It seems to me that you've had your confidence stripped away, and your faith in people. Which is hardly surprising, I reckon." 

I looked at him, worried he might take offence, but he just looked back at me expectantly. "So, yeah, shoring up. I guess you've been shaken up enough, so instead I'm offering my services as your scaffolding while you build yourself back up; refuge," I wrapped my arms around him, "source of TLC," I pressed my lips to his forehead, "and cheerleading squad to tell you how beautiful and amazing you are until you believe it."

He squirmed in embarrassment at the last bit, but I hooked a finger under his chin, "No, don't hide. It's true. I know you don't notice, because you do this 'don't see me' thing when you go out, but I saw the way people looked at you this afternoon, on the street and at the cafe. You turn heads, Bubu, even when you're fully cloaked." 

He made a face, and I rolled my eyes at him, "You do, man. And when you come out of stealth mode and smile..." I shook my head, at a loss for words, and he just stared at me, unbelieving. "But..." he gaped at me—I seemed to have that effect on him, "But... I'm short and skinny and pale, and..." 

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I wanted to crack his head open and scrape out all the negative, derogatory stuff that clouded the way he saw himself. And I wanted to kill, slowly and painfully, the bastard who put it there.

"It's not just looks, silly," I said, pulling him close and kissing his nose, "and anyway, I believe we already established that you're fucking gorgeous earlier this afternoon, so let's not go over ground we've already covered, yeah?" I smiled at him, trying to think of a way to convey what I saw when I looked at him, "It's you. There's something about you that draws people."

I sighed at his incredulous look, "Look, I've known you like five minutes and I want to give you the moon on a plate. My mum took an instant shine to you and, let me tell you, she's a sharp judge of character. And I counted three birds and at least one bloke checking you out at the coffee shop. Connect the dots." 

He smiled his dorky wonky-toothed smile, "Three birds?" I nodded solemnly. "What, and just the one bloke?" I nodded again, and he giggled, "I must be giving off the wrong vibes." Aaaand... he was back. I poked his ribs, muttering, "Idiot." and winced at the giggly squeal and flailing that ensued—yeah, he was ticklish alright.

I watched in fascination from a safe distance until he stopped being a braining hazard, and then I lay back down next to him, extending my arm, "If you're done squirming..." He grinned at me, "Yeah, ok." and snuggled close with a sigh. "Pup?" I smiled happily, tightening my arm around him, "Yeah?" He pulled himself up until his lips brushed my ear, his breath warm on my skin, his voice like black velvet, "I like this thing."


	10. Chapter 10

He had this disarming way about him—grounded, easy, natural... He seemed to know instinctively exactly the right thing to say or do to put me at ease, pull me straight out of my freak outs with just a few words without being condescending or disparaging, teasing me lightly, making me laugh.

He did a brilliant demolition job on me. He saw right through me, and made me look at myself through his eyes, stripping away the layers of fear and insecurity and self-loathing, giving me a glimpse of the person he saw, someone I hardly recognised as me.

Who was this vibrant, charismatic, beautiful creature he described? Yeah, he called me beautiful and, despite my incredulity, I realised with a shocked jolt that I very much wanted to believe him, to become that other me that he seemed to see so clearly; for me, for him, for us. 

Us. That was the moment when I realised that, in my head, we had already became 'us'. That despite all my doubts and my fears, a decision had been made without my conscious involvement in the decision making process. That my battered heart was beating hopefully again. 

No, I wasn't deluding myself. I knew that the deep, barely scabbed over wounds were still there; that they would take a long time to heal and I'd always bear their scars; that it wasn't going to be an easy road—for either of us. But I also knew with an unnerving certainty that this was not a rebound infatuation, nor was it just the fact that he offered me friendship and affection and warmth when I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had those things in my life. 

I could not run from the fact that it was real. He was right, there was no point in fighting it or hiding from it. I felt better, lighter, after admitting it to myself. I wanted him in my life; it was that simple. In every way that he offered himself, in every possible way I could imagine. I'd spent my whole life feeling... wrong, as though I hadn't been put together right, bits of me left out, incomplete. And he'd walked into my life and completed me. 

That first evening, lying on the couch next to him, his arms around me, was the first step in the long road to becoming a whole, fully functional human being. Friends, lovers, soulmates; I didn't quite know where we'd end up—and I hoped with all my being that we would be all of those—but I knew instinctively that he would be with me every step of the way. 

There it was: I trusted him. He'd cracked me wide open with his unassuming directness and artless wisdom, with his easy laughter and uncomplicated affection, with his puppyish ways and his cheek, his good nature and generosity, his sunny disposition and effortless grace and soft eyes and warm smile.

Giddy with a mix of relief and happiness and desire, I pulled myself up until my lips were just brushing his ear and, my voice deep and husky with suppressed excitement, I whispered, "I like this thing." My timing was impeccable. The words had hardly left my lips when the stove timer went off shrilly in the kitchen.

"Oh, shit, the bolognese!' I made to get up, but he grabbed the back of my hoodie and pulled me back down. "Oh, no, you don't!" he said, leaning up on an elbow and hovering over me with narrowed eyes, "You don't get to say what you just said the way you just said it and then piss off to stir the sauce or whatever." He splayed his hand on my chest to keep me down, "Explain yourself, buster. Does that mean what I think it means?" 

I looked up at him for a long moment, fighting the impulse to run and hide—my default setting. In the end, though, the new me he had coaxed out of its hiding place won the day; placing my hand over his, I nodded, "Yeah, it does." His radiant smile was worth it. "Really?" he asked, pulling himself up on his knees and sitting back on his heels.

I struggled to sit up cross-legged facing him, "Yeah." I couldn't help my own smile widening fit to crack my face in two as I looked at him, filing away the look on his face, to be recalled and gone over and savoured later, knowing that it would forever be my happy place. 

I don't know how long we just sat there, unmoving, smiling at one another like idiots. It could have been hours for all I cared, but he took the initiative once more, crawling slowly across the cushions to close the small distance between us until his hands were planted on the couch's arm on either side of me, and his knees were right against my shins. 

"Hi." he said as he sat back on his heels again, his smiling eyes all I could see this close up. "Hi." I answered, hoping my grin wasn't too goofy, but I didn't have too long to dwell on it, because he followed through smoothly, tilting his head and leaning in to kiss me, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. 

That kiss unleashed something wild and reckless in me. Before I realised I'd moved, I was straddling his thighs, my hands clutching fistfuls of his long curls, and I was kissing him with a ferocity I'd forgotten I was capable of.

Just as my rational side—a very small part of me at that moment—wondered whether he might be put off by it, the hand that was cupping my neck moved to fist in my hair, and he wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me tight—tighter—against him as his lips hardened on mine, taking control of the kiss. 

There was no hesitation, no doubt, as his hand slid down to the small of my back, pressing me closer until our groins made firm, delicious contact. I moaned shamelessly, toes curling into the cushions and hands clenching in his hair in what had to be a painful grip. I was unravelling, fast losing any semblance of control, and he was right there with me.

Lack of air brought us apart, panting as we sought one another's eyes. I let go of his hair, resting my arms on his shoulders, and he grinned at me as he rubbed the back of his head, "Ouch!" My hands joined his, trying to soothe his scalp with my fingertips, "Sorry, got a bit carried away." and he hummed his appreciation, leaning in for a brief touch of lips, "Mmmmm, 's nice."

He pulled back suddenly, nose twitching, "What's that smell?" I sniffed the air, "Oh, fuck me, it's our dinner burning!" and nearly went tits over arse as I tried to get up. I had stumbled half way to the kitchen when a thud and a pained yell stopped me in my tracks. I turned around to find him bent nearly double holding his head and swearing like a trooper. The inevitable had happened: he'd tried to follow me and banged his head on the sloping ceiling when he straightened up.

"Pup! You ok?" I asked, rushing back to him, "Here, sit down, let me have a look." I frantically tried to get his hands off to see what the damage was, but he batted my hands away, dropping down to sit heavily on the couch, "No, don't touch, it hurts like a motherfucker." I knelt next to him, "Ok, I promise I won't touch, but let me see. Point at where you hit yourself, yeah?" 

He gave me a wary look, but he took his hands away, and I leant over to see the spot he was pointing at. To my relief there was no blood, but a bump was already forming nicely. "Ugh. Ouch. You're not bleeding, but I'd better get you some ice. Don't move, ok?" He nodded, wincing at the pain, and I rushed off to the kitchen.

I turned the gas off on the way to the fridge, and then shook a trayful of ice cubes into a tea towel, tying the corners together to make it easier to handle, and poured him a glass of water. On the way back, I detoured to the bathroom to pick up a couple of painkiller tablets; I figured he'd need them. 

By the time I was back, the bump had doubled in size, and he hissed and cursed as I gingerly put the improvised cold pack to it. I pulled one of his arms up by the wrist and placed his hand to it, "Here. Hold it on the bump, it should feel better in a minute once the ice numbs it. Now open your mouth, I got you some painkillers." He did as he was told, and I popped the tablets in, passing him the glass of water, "There you go. Down the hatch!"

Taking the glass back from him and putting it on the coffee table, I sat next to him with an arm around his shoulders, and he slumped against me, saying morosely, "From now on, that's your side of the couch." I giggled, kissing his temple, "Deal! You want to lie down for a bit? I'd better go see whether we still have an edible sauce. If it's buggered I'll go get us a curry from down the block." 

I helped him ease himself down, piling cushions under him to make him comfortable. "I'll be back in a tick. Give me a shout if you get dizzy or start feeling sick, ok? You may have a bit of concussion." He started to nod, but caught himself, opting for a quiet 'k' instead. 

I pulled the throw from the back of the couch and tucked it around him, "Comfy?" He smiled at me, "Yeah. Thanks." Crouching down, I kissed him softly, "You're welcome. Now rest, while I engage in 'operation salvage dinner'." His giggles, punctuated by the occasional 'ouch' followed me all the way to the kitchen. 

It wasn't as bad as I'd thought. Once I poured the sauce out of the pan and into a bowl, I saw that there was only a thin burnt layer at the bottom. I taste-tested the sauce, and other than a slightly smoky tang, it was ok. I actually thought the smoky flavour gave it a lift, so I filled the pasta pot with water, poured salt and a slurp of olive oil in, and put it on the hob.

I could hear the TV starting in the other room, so I poked my head through the doorway, "You doing ok, Pup?" He looked up at me, "Yeah, the ice is working. Or the painkillers." He looked a bit pale, but sounded ok, so I nodded, "Probably both. Would you like a bit of salad with the pasta?" He smiled, "Mmmm, yeah, that would be nice, ta. Oh, and could we please have some of that crusty bread we got this morning?"

"Ok, salad and crusty bread coming up. Call out if you need anything, yeah?" He waved me away with a smile, "I'll be fine." and went back to watching TV, looking as cute as a button all snuggled up in the fluffy throw. Smiling to myself, I went back to my dinner-making duties, pulling salady stuff out of the fridge and setting out a bowl while I waited for the water to come to the boil.

I hummed happily as I sliced bread, onion and tomatoes, and washed some fancy lettuce that had caught my eye that morning, tearing it roughly into the bowl. Remembering the jar of bocconcini I had left at the back of the fridge I pulled it out, opened it, and sniffed the contents cautiously. Smiling at the clean briny smell they gave off, I sliced the half-dozen or so chewy balls and threw them in the bowl with the rest of the ingredients. 

Looking around me, I decided I might as well set the table and, by the time I was done, the water was boiling vigorously, and in went the spaghetti. I gave the pasta a good stir and set the timer, twenty minutes should do it. Turning the heat down to simmer, I picked up fresh glasses and poured us some wine, taking it through to the living area.

He looked like he was dozing, so I set the glasses on the coffee table and made my way to the other couch, but his sleepy voice stopped me, "Come over here with me?" I turned around to face him, smiling at his hopeful look, "Ok. Make some room." I changed course and he scooted against the back of the couch, pulling back the throw with a flourish. 

"Feeling better?" I asked, perching on the edge of the couch, and he nodded with a loose smile, eyes closed, "Mmmm. 'M sleepy, though." I figured it might be the painkillers making him drowsy, but I thought I'd better check anyway, "Hey, open your eyes, Pup, let me look at you." He pouted a bit and looked at me through heavy eyelids, "Sleeeeepy." I rolled my eyes at the adorable sleepyhead, hooking a finger under his chin, "Right. Now concentrate. Look at me, let me see your eyes." 

After a couple of tries, his eyes finally opened properly. To my relief, they were clear, and his pupils looked ok. "You feeling dizzy or sick?" He shook his head lightly, "Nope. 'M sleep..." I cut him off with a giggle, finishing for him, "Sleepy. Yeah, I got that. Do painkillers make you sleepy?" He smiled, "Mmmmmm." Ok, so he wasn't concussed; just a bit high. 

His hand closed around my wrist and pulled, his voice just a tad petulant, "I want you down here with me." Giggling at the pout on his face, I let myself get pulled down to lie on my back next to him, propped up by the cushions. The moment I was lying down, he made a happy little sound and snuggled up against me, pulling the throw along with him. 

He ended up lying half on top of me with his head resting on my chest. "Bubu?" he said after a while, lifting his head to look at me. I hummed in acknowledgement, and he wrapped himself around me before he went on, "I like this thing too." 

And with that, he promptly fell asleep. Smiling like an idiot, I combed my fingers through his messy curls, carefully avoiding the alarmingly large bump on the top of his head, listening to the snorty, huffy noises he made as he slept.


	11. Chapter 11

It was embarrassing, really. Fist I knocked myself stupid against the ceiling, and then I got high thanks to my zero tolerance to drugs. To this day, I have no idea what I did or said, but he still takes great pleasure in teasing me about it on every occasion that presents itself. I do remember him looking after me, though, all concerned eyes and gentle hands, getting me ice and painkillers, tucking me in, lying down with me on the couch and holding me in his arms. 

When I finally woke up from my drug-induced stupor, he was sitting at 'his' end of the couch reading his book, my feet were on his lap, and the delicious smell of freshly cooked pasta pervaded the room. "Back with us?" he asked with a smile the moment I opened my eyes, placing the book on the coffee table and squeezing my feet gently. I hummed noncommittally, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, and tried to get up, wincing at the throbbing inside my head.

"Hey, easy." he warned, letting go of my feet to come over to kneel by my side, and placing his hand on my chest, "that was a pretty nasty bang." His other hand cupped my face, "Are you feeling any better?" I looked around me, confused, "What happened? Did I pass out?" That got me a giggle, "In a manner of speaking; you got high on the painkillers and zonked out." I groaned, "Oh, god, what did I do? Did I embarrass myself?" He smirked a bit, leaning in to kiss my forehead, "No, you were adorable." Ok, that wasn't particularly reassuring, but he deftly changed the subject.

"Hungry?" he asked, and the mention of food, on top of the lovely smell coming from the kitchen, set my tummy to rumbling. "Yeah." I almost nodded, then thought better of it, "I'm starving." He gave me a flash of his wonky tooth as he smiled at me, "Pasta is ready. You ok getting up, or do you want to eat here?" The thought of walking made me feel queasy, so I was grateful for an alternative, "Eat here? Is that ok?" 

He nodded, "Ok, let's get you settled, then." Sliding his arm behind my back, he propped me up gently and piled some cushions behind me so I could sit up. "Alright?" he asked, sitting back on his heels to admire his handiwork, and I grinned goofily at him from my nest of cushions, "Yeah." Smiling back at me, he got up, saying over his shoulder as he made for the kitchen, "Ok, spaghetti coming right up. I'll just be a tick."

I watched him go with a dazed smile on my face, and called out after him, "Bubu?" He stopped at the kitchen door and turned to look back at me with an arched eyebrow, "Thank you for taking care of me." His smile was incandescent, "I quite enjoyed looking after you." And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to ponder what he meant. But not for long. In no time at all he was back, preceded by a wave of the mouthwatering smell of his cooking, carrying a tray containing two steaming bowls of spaghetti, a plate heaped with sliced crusty bread, and a bowl of colourful salad. 

Propping the tray on the coffee table, he plopped himself down next to me, handing me my bowl, cutlery and a napkin. My eyes closed in delight at the sight of the glossy red sauce coating the pasta without drowning it, at the slowly melting ribbons of Parmesan topping it, at the glorious smell that filled my nostrils. "I think I've died and gone to heaven." I gushed, and he giggled what I had already come to recognise as his embarrassed giggle, "Nah, you just have mild concussion." 

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Very funny. Seriously, man, this leaves my mum's bolognese for dead." My hand flew to my mouth, and I went on, sheepishly, "Don't you dare tell her I said that, mind!" His weird wheezy laugh filled the room, lifting my spirits, and he reached across the couch to ruffle my hair, "Don't worry, Pup, it will be our secret." He winked at me, "Or will it?"

"Hey! No teasing the walking wounded, dude, no fair." I whined, and he just leant back with a smirk and made a show of eating his pasta. I poked my tongue at him, "Fine, be like that, see if I care." and, with a pout, I tucked into my food. It is hard to maintain a pout when you are consuming ambrosia from the gods, though, and soon I was sporting a beatific smile on my face as I shovelled twirls of pasta into my mouth, and making the most embarrassing orgasmic sounds with it.

He watched me eat as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, his eyes fixed on me over the rim of his bowl, which was perched precariously on his bony knees, while he picked daintily at his food. After a while, I became self-conscious, and stopped shovelling, "Sorry, I do have table manners, I swear. It's just..." I shook my head and regretted immediately, the pain lancing through my head almost making me drop the bowl. His hands were immediately on me, steadying me, taking the bowl away and helping me lie down. 

He didn't ask stupid 'are you ok?’ questions, or crowd me with talk, he just knelt by my side, eyes full of concern and a cool hand resting soothingly on my forehead until, with a sigh, my body unclenched and I relaxed into the cushions. "Better?" he asked softly, gently smoothing my hair back from my face. "Yeah." I croaked. "Fuck, that hurt." 

He nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into a wry little smile, "I figured." He sobered up immediately, worry darkening his eyes, "I reckon it's definitely concussion, and I think I should take you straight to A&E." I frowned up at him, grabbing his hand so tight it probably left bruises, "Please, Bubu, don't make me go to hospital! I hate hospitals."

With a sigh, he sat back on on his heels, "Ok, we'll play it by ear." I grinned weakly, but he untangled his hand from my grip to shake a finger under my nose, and his eyes pinned me in place with a stern look, "But. If he pain does not go away before bedtime, or you start feeling sick, your arse will be lying on an A&E bed so fast it won't know what hit it. Deal?" I recognised the 'take or leave it' tone, and it dawned on me that he was really worried about me, so I gave in with as much grace as I could muster, "Yeah, ok. Deal."

His expression softened, "Are you well enough to sit up again?" I thought about it, "No, I think I'll stay down, my head still feels a bit throbby." He nodded, bringing the throw rug up to my chin and tucking it in, "Good! Rest is the best thing for concussion." I made a face, "But I'm still hungry! I can't eat if I'm lying down." In a swift fluid motion he was up, "Shift your arse over a bit, then. Careful with your head, mind." he said, sitting on the edge of the couch and nudging me with his sharp hip until he had some wiggle room. 

I gave him a confused look as he settled in facing me, but, ignoring my confusion, he picked up his bowl, twirled some strands of spaghetti onto his fork and, with a giggly, "Incoming!" shovelled the food into my gaping mouth. I just stared at him, giving him a no doubt priceless view of the load of savoury deliciousness he'd just fed me. 

"You may want to close your mouth and start chewing before you choke on it, Pup." he giggled again, gently pushing my jaw closed. He watched me chew and swallow my food like a proud mother hen before taking a mouthful himself. He went back and forth like that, one forkful of pasta for me, one forkful for him, interspersed with bits of bread and salad for variety, until all the food was gone. 

And the whole time I stared at him wide eyed like a mooncalf. I often think that that moment in time, with him feeding me off his own plate—well, yeah, bowl, whatever—was when I lost my heart to him. I mean, it was pretty much a done deal right from the start, but he eased his way into my heart with the natural, unfussy way in which he took care of me that evening.

By the time we were done eating, I was already nodding off, the warm glow of food coma washing over me. I watched him through heavy eyelids while he piled up plates and glasses and, saying, "I'll be back in a tick." took them through to the kitchen. Next thing I knew, a small warm body was lying curled next to me, a cold nose pressed against mine. 

Smiling sleepily, I nuzzled into the warmth, my arms trying to wrap around a slight, angular body that wasn't there. When they closed on thin air, I half-opened my eyes, confused, to find a pair of green ones staring haughtily back at me. "Socks?" I asked, my hand automatically reaching over to stroke her sleek fur, "What are you doing here?" Giving me a 'bitch, please, I live here' look, she arched sinuously under my hand, taking my attention as her due, and settled back down comfortably against my chest.

"Ah, bugger, did she wake you up? Sorry, I went into my room to change and she must have sneaked out." I lifted my head carefully to see him standing just outside his room, hair all awry, looking cute as all get out in a pair of well worn red flannel PJ bottoms and a ratty old white tee riddled with holes. "Sort of." I answered, suppressing a smile, "I thought it was you lying next to me, and woke up when I couldn't wrap my arms around you." I answered without thinking, my brain still foggy with sleep and being knocked about. 

An odd expression flitted across his face, but, before I had time to decipher it, he had picked Socks up and was sitting down at the edge of the couch with his nose buried in her fur. "How's the head?" he asked, looking at me over the cat's ears, letting my comment go to the keeper. "Still a bit throbby," I answered, sleepily, "but as long as I don't move it, it's fine." He gave me a worried look, "You'd better sleep here on the couch, then; given your reaction when you tried to nod, I don't think you moving about would be a good idea." He thought about it some more and then went on, "Actually, that would be best, that way if I sleep on the other couch I can check on you during the night, make sure you are ok."

I'm not normally that childish, I swear, but I had been so looking forward to sleeping in my brand new room in my brand new apartment that the thought of spending my first night on the couch made me want to throw a tantrum—which, in retrospect, may have been another concussion symptom. I admit it, I pouted like a two year old, putting a good deal of whine into my voice, "Do I have to?" He just gave me what I later came to know as 'the look', "It's either that or A&E. Your choice, buster." 

I must have looked really miserable, because his expression softened, "Here," he said, putting the cat down next to me, "you can keep Socks with you, the little tart loves you. I'll go get your duvet and a couple of pillows." I took the offered cat and hugged her to me, muttering to myself, "Way to end your first day, man. Well done." But the purring cat was curled up against me, and in no time at all her cool, happy vibe seemed to have seeped into me. Unfortunately, the happy vibe evaporated, the moment he came back armed with duvet and pillows—and what looked suspiciously like my stupid Captain America PJs tucked under his arm. 

I nearly died with embarrassment, and almost rushed him to get the bloody things out of sight—mum must have tucked them into my bag while I was asleep—but I remembered my poor abused head, and just lay there waiting for the mockery. 

Putting the bedding down at the end of the sofa, he held the PJs up triumphantly with a flash of crooked tooth—here it comes, I thought, wincing. "You have Captain America PJs?" he asked rhetorically, a huge grin on his face. 

No way to deny the evidence he held in his hands, so I nodded shamefacedly, only to look up in bewilderment when he sat on the edge of the sofa with a resounding and enthusiastic "Cool!" 

In the astonished silence that followed this pronouncement, he went on, "You get into them things, I'll go change into my Ninja Turtle PJs, then we'll match."

I watched open-mouthed as, without another word, he got up and marched back to his bedroom, leaving me sitting there with a handful of cat and soft red and blue fabric, and wondering what I'd ever done to get this lucky—not for the last time.


	12. Chapter 12

One definite advantage of a weedy constitution is being able to fit into clothes designed to appeal to the teen mind, I thought with a giggle as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, preening in my TMNT onesie—Michelangelo, of course.

Are you fucking kidding me? No way are you getting into bed wearing that. What were you thinking? Trust you to waste my money on such infantile rubbish.

My giggle was cut short, and I felt my face crumple at the painful flash of memory, the remembered words blows that threatened to shatter the fragile edifice of my self esteem. I stepped back blindly, instinctively trying to put physical distance between me and my past, until the back of my legs hit the edge of the bed, and I sunk to my knees, wrapping my arms tightly around me in an effort to stop myself from coming apart. 

Tears pooling under my closed eyelids, I slid sideways onto the floor, silent sobs shaking my body until, under the dark wave of shame and pain that threatened to swallow me, I found a shred of anger to hold on to. "Breathe!" I whispered, furious at myself for allowing his shadow to taint my life, and I forced a ragged breath that burnt an acid path into my lungs to loosen the tight coil of hurt inside me. 

My mind focused fully on keeping my lungs taking regular breaths to stave off the threat of complete breakdown that had lingered under the surface since he'd left me, the burn slowly receding with each laboured breath as my body started to relax from its almost catatonic rigidity. 

A tentative hand on my back startled me, and I instinctively curled up into a tight defensive ball. Instead of being removed, the hand stroked my back in slow, soothing circles, "Hey, hey, hey, it's ok, it's only me." His gentle touch and soft whisper grounded me, and I uncoiled slowly, concern for him bringing me back from the edge. When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling next to me, his body hovering over mine as he gentled me, looking scared and more than a little bit green around the edges. 

"Pup? What are you doing up? You should be resting." I said weakly, wiping the tears dewing my face on the sleeve of my onesie, and pulling myself up to sit with my back against the bed. Sitting back on his heels, he gave me a long, searching look, "I heard you." He didn't say any more. There was no need. He'd heard my sobs, known I needed comfort, and there he was, looking about to puke, but he'd come.

Slowly, as if he'd known that I'd spook at any sudden movement, he took a seat next to me, placing his arm along the top of the bed. I accepted the silent offer and scooted closer, burrowing into his solid warmth, sighing in relief as his arms closed loosely around me, providing comfort without making me feel caged. I wondered at his instinctive wisdom. How had he known that too close an embrace would have made me panic? How did he know to stay silent, to give me time and space to find myself again? 

He held me for a long time, patient, unrushed, until my breath slowed to a normal pattern and beyond, and, when I started to fidget, he released his hold on me immediately, sitting back a little to give me room to move. When I looked up, his eyes were concerned, but he was smiling at me, "You look wicked awesome as a Ninja Turtle." I knew without the shadow of a doubt that he'd understood what had brought on my unravelling, and just like that, with a few simple words and a smile, he'd wiped away that other voice, erased its power, and freed me to enjoy childish pleasures without shame.

I could feel a tentative smile pulling at the corners of my lips, "Yeah?" He nodded solemnly and carefully, mindful of his concussion, "Yeah." Moving closer, I placed my hand on the silver star in the middle of his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat through the fabric, feeling my own chest expand in an overwhelming rush of affection, "Your'e a pretty good Captain America too." 

His answering smile was so beautiful that I wanted to kiss him until we were both breathless. Giving in to temptation, I leant in to kiss his full lips, rejoicing in the way they opened under mine, in his little whimper as he pulled me closer, his fingers threading through my hair. 

Before the kiss could get out of hand, though, I let go of his lips, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, but under the light flush from the kiss, his skin was pale and clammy. Bringing my hand to his face, I gently brushed his hair back from his forehead, "You should be lying down, Pup, you look like you are going to pass out." 

His lack of response was all the response I needed. Pushing up, I stood, but, realising I'd never be able to lift him, I crouched back down next to him, "Do you think you can stand if I help you?" Taking his weak 'mmh' as an affirmative, I pulled one of his arms over my shoulder and wrapped mine around his waist, "You're going to have to help, Pup. I can't lift you on my own. On three, yeah? One... Two... Three!" On 'Three' we both pushed up, and then we were standing unsteadily, and I was struggling to keep him upright. 

"Ok, now bed." I said to myself: the sofa might as well be on the moon for all intents and purposes. Guiding his weaving bulk towards the side of the bed, I lowered him to sit on the edge, carefully helped him down until his head was safely on the pillow, and then swivelled his legs up and rearranged him until he was lying down comfortably.

Pulling the duvet over him, I stood there looking at his peaceful expression as he burrowed under the covers, knowing I should go back to the living room and sleep on the sofa, let him have a proper rest, but I felt this irresistible pull to be close to him. It was as if he'd snagged a hook inside me and was reeling me in, and I realised that I didn't have it in me to fight it. I was in, hook, line and sinker.

Carefully, ever so carefully to avoid jostling him, I got into bed next to him, and even half asleep he managed to make me feel safe, wanted, cared for. Just as I was settling down, turning on my side in my preferred sleeping position, I felt a rustle of sheets behind me, and then his body was curling around mine, and his arms were tucking me against him. I stilled, barely daring to breathe as he nuzzled the back of my neck with a contented little sigh. "Pup?" I whispered, and I could feel his smile as he answered, his breath skittering warmly on my skin, "Shhhhhh. I'm asleep." 

Smiling like an idiot, I reached over to turn off the light, and then allowed myself to be pulled back, my head resting in the crook of one of his arms while his hand splayed on my chest, his other arm wrapped tight around my waist, a possessive gesture that made my heart skip with happiness. "Night." I felt his words, rather than hear them, his lips a caress. "Night, Pup." I whispered, letting sleep pull me under, sure in the knowledge that, for the first time in weeks, I would not have to fear my nightmares.

I woke up to soft paws on my face, Socks' not so subtle way to let me know that, as far as she was concerned, it was already morning, and hight time for me to get up, open the window, and let her out. Slitting one eye half open, I saw it was still barely light outside. I groaned, but, knowing she'd keep at it until I complied, I tried to get up, muttering to myself, "Ok, ok, your bloody highness!" only to find that I was pinned to the bed.

"Whaaaa?" Something heavy and warm was lying half across my body. Rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my hand, I blinked at the gloriously unruly mass of curls peeking from under the duvet, and the previous evening rushed into focus. "Pup?" Lifting the covers, I couldn't help the fond smile that spread across my face. He was curled up against me, his head on my chest, his left hand clutching a handful of my onesie, looking utterly adorable. 

Another piece of my heart was restored at the sight of him—I could actually feel it clicking into place. He looked so peaceful that I would have gladly let him sleep, watching him until he woke up by himself, but Socks had other ideas. Not used to being ignored, she put a hint of claw into her next sweep, and I knew that time was up. "Pup, wake up," I whispered, combing my fingers through the soft curls, "I need to let Socks out." Mumbling incoherently in protest, he wriggled closer, tightening his hold on the fistful of onesie. 

Socks had had enough, though. With a swish of tail, she stretched and came over to sit on my chest and swipe disdainfully at the head of curls that had no business being on her property and interfering with her morning routine. Giggling at the possessive bossy boots, I caught her paws in my hand before she managed to do some serious damage, and she mouthed my hand in warning. "Ok, ok, you win. Sheesh!" 

Sensing my surrender, she slipped out of my grip and jumped off the bed onto the windowsill, sitting primly with her tail wrapped around her paws, its tip flicking impatiently as I pushed up on one elbow and carefully untangled myself from his sleeping weight. He woke up the moment I left the bed, and lifted his head off the pillow to look owlishly at me, croaking, "Why are you getting up? It's still dark." Leaning over, I kissed his forehead, "Go back to sleep, I'm just letting Socks out before she claws both of us bloody." He gave me a confused look, but then decided it wasn't worth pursuing, because he let himself drop back and curled up under the covers.

Going over to the window, I undid the latch and pushed it open a fraction. I could almost hear Socks' 'about time' as she slowly stood up, made a show of stretching until her claws pushed out, and then slunk once around me, marking me thoroughly before stepping out onto the narrow balcony, ready for her morning adventure. "Yeah, I love you too. Good hunting." I watched her with a smile as she jumped easily up and lithely climbed up the trellis I'd fixed to the wall to hold my climbing rose bush, on her way to her roof kingdom.

The morning chill made itself known, so I closed the window and climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet tight to keep the warmth in, and sidling up to snuggle against his back. "Ugh. Your feet are cold." he grumbled, turning around to face me, hazel eyes still clouded by sleep smiling into mine, "Morning." I smiled back, rubbing my nose against his in an Eskimo kiss, "Morning. How's your head?" Frowning a little, he lifted it and tentatively moved it from side to side. " 'S good. A little headachy, but the stabbing pain is gone." 

He sank back down with a sigh, then lifted his head up again, looking around in confusion, "Hang on. We're in your bed?" I nodded without looking at him, suddenly self-conscious. "What did I miss?" he asked softly, "Last night's a bit fuzzy." I moved a fraction closer to his reassuring warmth, and he automatically wrapped an arm around me, listening to my halting account without interruption, his arm holding me tighter as I told him the sad, sorry story.

"You came over and held me, although you were hardly able to stand up," I finished, looking up at him shyly, "And by the time I was ok I didn't think I could get you back to the sofa. My bed was easier." He giggled, "So we did jump into bed together after all." I narrowed my eyes at him, trying hard not to laugh at the little sod's cheek, "Right, if you're well enough for twatty remarks, you're well enough to get out of bed." 

I made to get up, but he pulled me back down, pushing up on an elbow to hover over me, "Nuh-uh. You're not getting away that easily." His tone was playful, but there was something in his eyes when I looked up at him that made my hair stand on end. Slowly, giving me plenty of time to move if I chose to, he closed the distance between us, tilting his head slightly to capture my lips with his, his free hand coming up to cup my face. 

Sighing into his mouth, I... melted. It's the only word I can think of to describe my total surrender. With that kiss he marked me as his, and I realised that I liked being marked by him, that I was his for the taking, that he owned me, body, mind and soul. The very small part of me that was still rational tried to put up a fight, screaming, 'too soon, too much, too fast', but the majority won, and I succumbed to the magic of the moment. 

His kiss was soft, unhurried, undemanding, but it sent tendrils of warmth to every fibre of my body. I'd never been so thoroughly and lovingly kissed in my life. It was a slow, uninhibited exploration, his discoveries punctuated by small sounds of surprise and delight. 

His journey of discovery complete, he released me, looking at me with a far away expresion on his face while I stared up at him, trying to rein in my galloping heart. "I like kissing you." he said simply after a little while, making my heart stutter in my chest. I brought my hand up to caress his face with trembling fingers, "God, Pup, you're going to be the end of me." 

Giving me a considering look, he asked softly, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" There was no conscious thought involved in my response; lifting my head off the pillow, I nibbled on his luscious lower lip, "A very good thing."


End file.
